


Wide Breadth

by artanis_aman



Category: Clint Barton/ Phil Coulson - Fandom, Marvel, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Fingering, Angst, Blow Jobs, Clint is a greedy bottom, Dirty Talk, M/M, Mage Fitz, Magic, Magical Artifacts, Magical Kingdom AU, Nat always knows everything, On Clint's Part, Overstimulation, Past Audrey Nathan/ Nick Fury, Past Audrey Nathan/ Phil Coulson, Phil Has a Big Dick, Rimming, Self-Lubrication, Vampire Hill, WIP, asshole Rumlow, dragon phil, evil but not SO evil Jasper, feelings so many feelings, incubus/shifter clint, poor communication, sexy sex, slight D/S dynamic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-19
Updated: 2017-05-30
Packaged: 2018-05-21 14:12:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 43,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6054559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artanis_aman/pseuds/artanis_aman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first thing Phillip noticed were his surroundings—an extravagant collection of fine goods made to enhance sexual desire, one clear exist, and one possible.</p><p>The second thing he noticed, in short order, was the half breed, propped up on his elbows on the bed with his legs spread in the most lewd display.</p><p>He was breath-takingly beautiful.</p><p>And he wasn't just any Balikai offering.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Balikai Offering

**Author's Note:**

> Hello All! Thank you for checking out my second work on this site. Honestly, this is much more in keeping with my style (supernatural and porny). Hope you enjoy! Feedback and criticism always WELCOME. Seriously...I'm the worst self-editor.

Clint glared at Nat.

 

Upon discussing the preparations for this job yesterday, she, at no time, mentioned _make-up_.

 

“No.” He narrowed his eyes at the coal liner.

 

“You are going to be a ceremonial Balikai offering. You have to wear make-up.” She tried to covertly inch the liner closer but Clint stopped her hand.

 

“As a ceremonial Balikai offering, I am presented under a veil.” Clint fisted the veil, shaking it in front of him like the evidence it was. “If birthday boy doesn’t want to fuck me because I’m not wearing eyeliner then he’s definitely not worth my time.”

 

Nat waited, that calculated Widow stare working him over. “You’re wasting time.”

 

Clint crossed his arms defiantly. But, really, no one but no one diverted the Black Widow when she had her mind set to something.

 

“Fine.” He grumbled and sat dejectedly while she darkened his lash line. He hoped the shit didn’t smudge with his sweat and blur his vision at some crucial point in the evening like the last time she made him wear it. He huffed internally.

 

“It makes the blues and greens of your eyes quite vibrant.” She commented upon completion.

 

Clint crinkled his nose jeeringly. “Remind me again why I am doing this?”

 

Nat sighed, acting come upon. “Because, you are the pickiest half incubi birdie that ever existed. We need information from the birthday guest. You need to feed. Badly. You’re killing two birds with one stone.” Clint raised an eyebrow. “Pardon the expression.”

 

Clint knew going into this job that pulling this role blind would be challenging. He never picked a John without eyeing him first. There was something about the flirtatious banter, feeling out the physical chemistry, that felt like a crucial step of a feeding.

 

But Nat had a point. He really needed to feed, and, if their intel was good, the birthday guest was some criminal book-keeping _dragon_. If he fed on the sexual energy of a dragon, Nat promised he might not have to feed for months. Clint had never fed from a dragon, so he had to take her word for it.

 

Being only half incubus, his need for sexual energy came much more infrequently than Natasha’s. Clint could live for a couple of weeks on food and drink for sustenance. Natasha, on the other hand, needed to feed every few days or every week at least.

 

Natasha touched his cheekbone. “We have a back-up plan if it doesn’t feel right.” She reminded softly.

 

Clint smiled. Despite not being able to truly relate to Clint’s “process” with sexual partners, Natasha always tried to make him feel comfortable. As a full incubus, sex was food. There was very little grey area. The sexual desires of her partners would become her own. Clint couldn’t exactly be like that. If he didn’t like something sexually, he couldn’t complete a feeding.

 

“You’re ready.” Natasha announced as she slipped the veil into place.

 

Clint checked the breast pocket of his embroidered vest, making sure the paralyzing venom was there if things went awry.

 

“I think you’ll find laying with a dragon quite pleasurable.” She commented, with a sly quirk of her lips. Clint groaned and shook his head. The Widow kept her secrets and had her laughs…usually at Clint’s expense.

 

Natasha led them down the opulent hallway. Clint couldn’t help but notice that the corners of the rich wood rafters would make a perfect little nest. This job didn’t call for that type of plan, but Clint couldn’t really turn his mind off to those types of things.

 

Finally, they reached what was apparently the correct extravagantly carved wooden door (having passed 20 similar ones). An oily character was already waiting there, ringing his hands excitedly.

 

“He’s as fine as you promised.” He leered at Clint, taking in his arms and partially exposed chest. “I think he’ll be a wonderful offering for our guest.”

 

“I expect payment.” Natasha eyes were cold and detached. It always unsettled Clint the way she did that so easily.

 

“Of course, Mistress. Let us settle the offering and you and I shall settle the debt.” The man shuffled to the door and produced a key ring with large ornate brass keys. He unlocked the room and ushered them inside.

 

The room, as expected, was dripping with wealth. From the fine fabrics in rich reds and organges to the hand-made four-post bed, drapped in a sheer silk canopy. The lighting stones set a soft hue to the room, adding to the underlay of the romantic ambiance.

 

The short, rather chubby man placed his hand on Clint’s shoulder guiding him to the plush chase at the foot of the bed. “I will have The Offering reclining here when the guest enters.”

 

Clint suppressed a disgusted shudder.

 

But he was a professional, sort-of, and kept his composure long enough to get into a position that the man found satisfying. It was a bit to coy looking for Clint’s taste. If he was a sexual treat, why not have him spread open so the dragon knew exactly what he was getting when he stepped foot in the room? Even the thought of the position caused a flair of arousal to bolt through him.

 

He _really_ needed to feed.

 

“Good. Finished. The payment?” Natasha did an incredible job of looking disinterested in the whole affair. As the slave seller, she wasn’t supposed to care where her “product” ended up.   All of this was very illegal, obviously. SHEILD

outlawed the selling and purchasing of half breeds as sex slaves in all 7 kingdoms over 100 years ago.

 

But, they were dealing with an underground crime ring so….

 

“Yes, yes, right this way Mistress.” The man hastily shuffled toward the door, looking back a number of times to make sure Clint remained properly positioned.

 

Clint sighed as the door shut. This job had better be worth it.

 

\--O--

 

Phillip Coulson had expected a number of things from his birthday celebration. Shaking hands with several high ranking criminals that he had become friendly with while under cover? Obviously. An increase in the already sickeningly high opulence of the Balikai culture? Of course. A traditional, Balikai ceremonial offering? Phillip Coulson quite honestly did not think his host would go through the trouble. Having been illegal for over a century (not that it was that long to the supernatural community), made the buying and selling of half-breeds quite expensive.

 

It wasn’t hard at all to turn his surprise into shocked gratitude.

 

The mark, Folikiel Kaitail beemed with pride. He certainly impressed more than a number of guests with his announcement that such a “treat” was awaiting Phillip.

 

Phillip followed the necessary cultural etiquette of graciously turning down the offering, begging the host to enjoy it for himself. Ultimately, he was taken down to the back rooms, where the sounds of paid whores and the smells of sex set the tone for his own upcoming encounter.

 

Ceremonial offerings were typically half incubi and half some other creature. Historically, half breeds were an ideal offering to honored guests because they were sexual beings in nature, yet not so powerful as to temporarily drain the guest of their magic…or worse kill them. Also, full-incubi often left unattended, half breeds in their wake, so the stock was plentiful. It didn’t hurt that when starved enough, a half-breed would be so hungry and mindless for sex, that guests could do whatever they wanted with it.

 

Phillip’s mouth soured with the images of what could be waiting him behind one of the carved wooden doors.

 

“I think you’ll find your offering most delicious, High Sir.” Penchai, the man taking him to his _gift_ , was an oily man in more ways than one. Physically, he was an off-putting sight, with greasy skin and hair and a chubby body. Tactically, he could not be trusted, slipping from allegiance to allegiance as it suited him.

 

Phillip was only glad that half-breeds, like their full-breed counterparts could emit a type of aphrodisiac when they wanted to feed, that most creatures, including Dragons, were wholly susceptible to. Unfortunately for the half-breed awaiting him, Balichai tradition called for the presentation of the half-breed’s used body that resulted in cheers and more calls to drink.

 

Phillip would have to fuck the poor creature. The only comfort would be in knowing that his energy would help fortify it.

 

“Here we are.” Penchai opened the door but did not enter. He kept his eyes to the floor, as custom, leaving the creature “unspoiled” even in sight. Phillip doubted that Penchai hadn’t inspected the creature prior, but Balichai culture was all about the show.

 

“Thank you Penchai. I’ll ring once I’m… satisfied.” Phillip offered a clip downward nod of acknowledgement and swiftly entered the room.

 

The first thing Phillip noticed were his surroundings—an extravagant collection of fine goods made to enhance sexual desire, one clear exist, and one possible.

 

The second thing he noticed, in short order, was the half breed, propped up on his elbows on the bed with his legs spread in the most lewd display.

 

He was breath-takingly beautiful.

 

He was also not just _any_ Balichai offering.

 

For one thing, he had displaced his veil—tossing it carelessly to the side. A true Balikai offering would never be so bold. Moreover, the offering’s entire physique suggested lethal practice—deadly musculature, especially in the arms.

 

His gaze, made more intense by the dark liner, was attempting to feign unintelligent seduction but failing utterly. The man was clearly clever, his eyes assessing Phillip with every bit as much sharpness as Phillip was assessing him.

 

Above all this, Phillip’s magic allowed him to sense that the man was half incubus, half shifter… specifically hawk shifter. The offering’s magic was unique, sizzling along his skin, tempting him even before the creature emitted his pheromones.

 

Biceps, half incubus/ half hawk shifter, criminal organization….

 

Phillip’s stomach flipped at the possibility.

 

“Are you going to stay all the way over there all night…High Sir?” The offering—possible assassin codename: _Hawkeye_ —asked, his eyebrow arched cockily. His voice, just as tempting as the rest of him, held the melodic tones of a practiced flirt.

 

“Are you going to pretend you’re an actual Balakai offering all night?” Phillip countered, risking his hand.

 

Phillip’s comment had the most pleasant effect of contorting Hawkeye’s features—his eyes narrowing and his mouth thinning. “Who says I’m pretending?” He countered, but his voice was calculated, holding none of the lightness of his first question.

 

Phillip smirked and slid his hands into his suit pant pockets. “I don’t know many Balakai offerings that have your kind of bicep musculature.”

 

“I don’t know many underworld book-keepers that would notice that type of thing.”

 

“I imagine we both aren’t what we seem.” Phillip felt the corners of his eyes crinkle. Every century or so, something about the job managed to surprise him. And what a pleasure that this century’s surprise was so appeasing to the eye.

 

Phillip moved over to the intricately carved desk chair. He pulled it out and positioned it so that it was facing Hawkeye directly. He could feel the laser sharp focus of the man tracking his slightest movements. Phillip unbuttoned his suit jacket and sat, casually, with one leg crossed over the other. “I’m willing to be forthright with you if you are willing to be forthright with me.” Phillip offered.

 

Hawkeye was openly suspicious. But he shrugged nonetheless—“You first.”

 

“I’m an agent of SHEILD. I’ve been undercover as Folikiel Kaitail’s newly hired accounts manager for…nearly three years now. Apparently, I’m in his good graces and have earned myself the right to a traditional Balakai offering.” Phillip kept his gaze steady as he ventured into his gamble. “I can sense that you are part incubus and part hawk. I assume, based on your age, appearance, physique and current location that you are _Hawkeye_ , the mercenary of the hour, so to speak.”

 

Hawkeye stared, unblinking, betraying nothing to the silence.

 

“I only have two questions,” Phillip pressed on “Where is the Black Widow? And, who are you two here to kill?”

 

Hawkeye remained reclined on his elbows, eyes unyielding for several long moments before he answered, “The Widow is…around. And we’re here to kill Moratieus Blukai. Apparently he’s been testing black magic on young pixies and is getting pretty good at it. Some people don’t want the Balakai mob to enjoy the fruits of such _dignified_ labor.”

 

Phillip heard enough disdain in Hawkeye’s tone to confirm several theories that he had been harboring about Hawkeye and the Black Widow over the past 12 years. For one, the Widow had taken a turn in her work. Branching on her own for a while and then later with Hawkeye. The two were taking jobs that benefited not only the criminals that paid them but also some higher moral code. It seemed to be known across SHIELD and the underworld that Hawkeye and the Black Widow held no allegiances and would take only jobs that they deemed worthy. Apparently, monetary incentive was not the only factor in their calculation of worthiness. And, evermore impressive, there record was spotless by all accounts. Never a job left unfinished.

 

Phillip measured up the consequences of the Widow and Hawkeye dropping in on his job. Really, they wouldn’t compromise his cover nor intercede with any of his plans. The assassination of Moratieus Blukai wouldn’t upset the power structure of the organization so much as it would turn their agenda to vengeance on its enemies. Phillip could work with that. Actually, Phillip could work with that quite well.

 

“I see no reason to step on each other’s toes.” Phillip responded at length. “SHEILD has a bit of a long game here, but your work shouldn’t interfere with it.”

 

Hawkeye appeared as if he wanted to scoff.

 

“You don’t believe me?” Phillip challenged.

 

Hawkeye responded coolly. “I know you’re telling me the truth. I just can’t believe that a SHEILD agent is sitting here basically saying ‘have at it’.”

 

“You can sense deception? Magically?” Phillip asked, intrigued. Half-breeds weren’t known for having higher-level skill sets such as lie detection. The SHEILD part of Hawkeye’s commentary he dismissed—it wasn’t worth getting into SHIELD’s many facets.

 

Hawkeye smirked—the most genuine thing he had done in Phil’s presence yet. “You could say… I can see things, really well.”

 

Phillip wasn’t entirely certain of the meaning of Hawkeye’s words, but he assumed it was a joke he wasn’t privied to.

 

“I’m glad then. I think that particular _skill_ will make things go a lot quicker.” Phillip stood, pushing the chair back toward the desk and then taking a few steps in Hawkeye’s direction. There was one last piece unaddressed.

 

“You’re low on magic.” Phillip observed aloud.

 

It wouldn’t suit either of them _not_ to go through with the Balakai Offering ceremony. Clearly Hawkeye needed magical sustenance and Phillip needed to reinforce his cover.

 

Hawkeye’s gaze turned to a leer. “Are undercover SHIELD agents allowed to fuck wayward mercenaries on the job?”

 

Phillip loosened his tie. “While undercover, we’re offered a wide breadth.”

 

Hawkeye quirked his lips. “Wide huh? What about long?”

 

Phillip unfastened his cuffs—never taking his eyes off the handsome assassin. “I’ll let you be the judge of that.”

 

 --O--

 

As much as Clint’s mind should have been spinning, it wasn’t.

 

It seemed simple enough. Him and Nat had dropped in on Mr. Agent of SHIELD’s assignment and hopefully they would be slipping out of it just as quickly.

 

Clint knew that the agent was telling the truth. Clint’s gut, a true north all his life, combined with his ability to see micro expressions and details confirmed that. Clint didn’t know, and couldn’t know if what the agent disclosed was the whole picture. Clint doubted it, but there was a high chance it didn’t much matter.

 

What Clint _did_ know—the Agent’s magical energy was ridiculously tempting—calling to him on a deep, instinctual level. Clint had an unparalleled desire to lick and taste and _play,_ one that he had never truly felt before, especially not with someone so new and clearly dangerous.

 

It should have dismayed him the way his pheromones released without his conscious intention. Instead, he focused on the way Agent’s nostrils flared and his eyes hooded.

 

Agent moved so confidently, shrugging off his jacket and laying it neatly over the back of the desk chair, skimming his fingers down his white dress shirt revealing tempting skin and tasteful chest hair. His eyes never left Clint’s. He was unashamed and assured, lethal and efficient.

 

Clint shivered, his mouth watering and his hole moistening.

 

Quickly, Agent stripped out of his black briefs—revealing a heavy cock that was….

 

Clint quirked his head. Agent’s cock was sizeable but certainly within the realm of what Clint could take. But his cock had what appeared to be three rings, like ridging. One running just under the head, another across the middle of his cock, and the final one just before the base. The ridging didn’t look like it would tear him, in fact… it might make things even more pleasurable.

 

When his eyes returned Agent’s he regretted his long surveying of the man’s cock. He appeared to be assessing Clint, trying to work something out.

 

“You’ve never laid with a Dragon before.” He stated with only the barest hint of surprise.

 

Clint declined to answer—unsure of how the Agent would take it.

 

“How old are you?”

 

Clint wanted to lie. Nat told him how older supernatural creatures sometimes reacted to beings in their first cycle, but he didn’t feel that he could successfully pull one past Mr. SHEILD.

 

“I’m 36.” Clint tipped his chin up defiantly.

 

“You’re in your first cycle?” Agent’s eyebrows furrowed. Clint couldn’t imagine how old the man was. He looked in his early 40s and for a dragon that suggested several centuries of life. Clint would look 27 for at least 70 years and he was only a half breed.

 

“Is that going to be a problem?” Clint couldn’t keep the derision from his tone. His body was thrumming with the anticipation of Agent’s magic, he could already feel it burning along his skin. He didn’t want this turning into a ‘you’re too young thing’ because old-supernatural-Agent was going to be an elitist fuck about it.

 

Agent just smiled crookedly for a moment. “There are several things to know about dragons. One, obviously, is the ridging we have here even in our human form.” Agent ran his hand languidly up and down his member. His heated gaze never lifted from Clint’s face.

 

Clint nodded. It was the hottest fucking thing.

 

“Also—” Agent moved toward him and threaded his finger through the hair at the back of Clint’s head. Getting a good grip, he pulled downward so that Clint’s face was upturned to him. The force was just enough to excite but not so much as to be threatening. He leaned down, stopping just before Clint’s mouth, forcing Clint to wait for it, to become painfully focused on what he thought Agent would taste like, how his tongue would feel along his.

 

Like a flick of the wrist, Agent’s mouth was over Clint’s, plundering and taking. His tongue dexterously explored and slid to the back of his mouth and then to the back of his throat. The strong appendage slid up and down Clint’s throat, fucking it thoroughly. Clint moaned wantonly.

 

_Mother of Solia_

 

Agent pulled away. “Dragons have elongated tongues in human form, similar to snake shifters, but stronger.”

 

Clint blinked slowly, trying to recover. Agent’s taste, the thrill of his magic disoriented him. He had never wanted someone so badly. He could feel his hole leaking between his cheeks and his cock straining against the loose silk fabric of his pants.

 

“Yeah, I think I’m a fan of Dragon… anatomy—“ Clint snarked dazedly. “I wont be sure though until I’ve gotton good use of it. Speaking of which…” Clint pulled off his vest and flew his hands needily to his waistband. Agent beat him to it and Clint just reclined back while the man effectively rid him of the fabric.

 

Clint laid down, scooting up so that his heels just rested at the edge of the bed. Agent ran his hand proprietarily up Clint’s thigh, over his hip bone, his thumb swept Clint’s nipple on the way to cupping his jaw. Clint sucked in a breath, so heated from Agent’s simple exploration.

 

“Can you stand to be played with some?” Agent asked practically, his tone thickened with want.

 

“Some, not too long.” Clint responded breathlessly.

 

Agent nodded like he actually understood and wasted no time, kissing Clint and plunging his tongue down his throat. Being part incubus, Clint obviously never had a gag reflex, his biology ensuring that he could get a feeding from any opening. Feeling Agent use him like that heated his blood and caused his eyes to roll back. It felt so _right_.

 

Agent spent considerable time tasting Clint’s neck, biting when he found Clint’s sensitive bits. Clint couldn’t help but whimper—it touched something baser inside him.

 

“Dragons are prone to nipping. A bit of pain with pleasure is a very rooted part of dragon sexuality.” Agent whispered between hard sucks to Clint’s nipple.

 

Nearly beyond conversation, Clint was surprised that he even picked up on the questioning tone. “It’s good.” He managed. He loved the way Agent hummed to himself and rolled his nipple between his teeth.

 

By the time Agent licked and sucked and bit his way to Clint’s inner thighs, Clint was shaking. “Yeah, no more playtime, I need you inside me.”

 

“You can take a little more.” Agent lazed his tongue along Clint’s asscheeks, licking and slurping. Clint shifted his legs wider, fully revealing his drenched hole. He couldn’t remember ever being so _wet_. Agent lapped up his juices, making unbearably hot contented noises.

 

Agent spared Clint no reprieve; he speared his strong tongue against Clint’s hole again and again. Clint’s leg’s hiked and shook—his half breed body having just as many sensors along his rim as a full breed. Made to gain maximum pleasure from a feeding, his rim was more sensitive than other creatures, to reward penetration.

 

Agent either realized that Clint was going to self-combust or couldn’t take much more himself. He rose from between Clint’s legs and smoothed his body along Clint’s until his weight rested on his forearms. Agent pressed his mouth forcefully over Clint’s, it was sloppy and needy and Clint was mostly panting.

 

“Yes, you’re ready now, all soaking wet and flushed.” Agent pulled back, shifting back on his knees between Clint’s splayed legs.

 

Clint whimpered and pulled his knees to his chest and then out wide. Too overwhelmed to flip over, he didn’t think Agent would mind the position.

 

Agent ran a palm down Clint’s chest, along his navel, almost reverently. “yes?”

 

“Yes, fuck, yes” Clint rolled his hips eagerly.

 

Agent chuckled, “So needy.” but he had a grip on his cock and positioned it at Clint’s entrance.

 

Clint had certainly had larger than Agent before—there was a half giant in Clint’s past that took that title, however for some reason Clint felt impossibly full as Agent’s blunt head pushed past his rim and the first ring of ridging followed. Clint’s eyes hooded by the second ring and by the third he was moaning nonsense.

 

Agent let him feel his cock leisurely at first, making Clint whimper each time the ridging past over his hyper sensitive prostate. But, without having to be told, Agent set a more grueling pace, driving in and out of Clint.

 

Clint was lost in sensation until he felt Agent’s calloused fingers wrap around his neck, tight enough to feel restrictive but not so tight as to cut off air supply. Clint blinked his eyes open, taking in Agent’s beautiful sweat sheened body, his flexing muscles and fierce blue eyes.

 

“You’re already so high and you haven’t even fed yet.” Agent’s breath was labored but mostly even.

 

Clint’s hole clenched involuntarily at the mention of a feeding and they both groaned in unison. Agent slapped his hips forward with considerably enough force that Clint yelped.

 

Clint could feel it, burning his skin, sizzling his blood. The closer they both barreled to orgasm the closer Clint would be to feel Agent’s magic flowing over and through him.

 

Clint forced his body into Agent’s motion, fucking himself on the man’s cock just as much as he fucked him. He needed it, he was so fucking close. He was incredibly aware of every stroke, pumping him steadily toward orgasm.

 

Finally, a blast of energy surged through him. Whiter and hotter than any other orgasm or feeding Clint ever experienced before. Agent’s magic seared inside him, making him shake with blinding ecstasy.

 

When he came to—because he was fucking high as a kite—Agent was still over him, nuzzling into his neck and murmuring things that sounded _ancient_.

 

And…”Shit, you’re still hard.” Clint’s voice was thick and hoarse, like he had just woken up.

 

“Mmm, another fact about dragon anatomy. Dragons are multi-orgasmic.”

 

“Fuck.” Clint shivered with the possibility, his hole clenching and zinging pleasure through his not-quite-recovered body. “But incubi are multi orgasmic. We can get it up again quick but we get _soft_.”

 

“Should I pull out?” There was a teasing tilt to Agent’s voice like he already knew the answer.

 

Clint rolled his eyes and neglected to answer. “How many rounds you got in you, old-timer.”

 

Agent chuckled genially. “Better question, how many can you take?” His eyes sobered a bit, “You’re body hasn’t processed much high level magic, I assume. We don’t want to shock your system.”

 

Clint did a body check. He felt--- _amazing_. Like he would never have to feed ever again. He felt sharper and clearer than had even after his first feeding, which nothing had compared to since. He definitely did not feel bloated or nauseous, like Natasha told him she did when she went for a binge.

“I think I can at least take one more round.” Clint answered honestly.

 

Agent blinked a few times, “Yes, I think you can.” But he sounded surprised.

 

“What?”

 

“Half breeds usually have a harder time with dragon magic, but your levels do seem fine.”

 

“You can really tell that? Is that another dragon trick?” Clint circled his hips gently, working himself back up.

 

“Yes and no, every dragon has different skill sets. I’m a perceiver—one of my strongest skills is sensing magic in other beings.” Agent rolled his hips to match Clint’s own lazy pace.

 

Clint let that information sink in. He had so many questions, but wasn’t sure he wanted to ask. Agent was free with information, but Clint didn’t want to seem _that_ naïve. Instead, he diverted the conversation.

 

“Can you flip us without pulling out?”

 

Agent looked bemused. He hooked his arms under Clint’s shoulders and with dizzying strength and speed, flipped their positions. He scooted back a bit, so that his upper shoulders were supported by the pillows and Clint straightened.

 

Yes. The new position was _perfect_.

 

Clint rose up experimentally high on his knees and slid down Agent’s cock. Just as he expected the angle combined with the ridging felt amazing.

 

“You’re eyes turn almost yellow-green when you orgasm.” Clint opened his eyes to look down at Agent who stared back so appreciatively that Clint almost blushed.

 

“It’s the hawk.” Clint explained, though he had no reason too. “My two sides blend sometimes during sex.” When he was experiencing genuine pleasure and not just an orgasm borne out of a feeding—Clint neglected to elaborate on that piece.

 

“Its stunning.” Agent’s hands explored Clint’s body, unashamed. His thumbs brushed over his nipples, his palms smoothed down his flank and thighs, flexing as Clint worked himself up. Clint’s cock was hard and Agent gave him a few firm pumps, dipping his thumb in the slit and bringing Clint’s pre-come to his mouth.

 

It was that action, that simply taste that unraveled Clint completely.

 

“Fuck me.” He demanded, nearly breathless.

 

Agent secured his hands to Clint’s hips and planted his feet firmly. And he fucked Clint, like he was born to do it, like he was put in the world to make Clint shriek in pleasure.

 

Clint focused on the slide of their bodies, their panting, the pleasant ache in his thighs. And Agent’s fucking _cock—_ he focused on that too.

 

Agent snuck his hands to Clint’s backside and palmed his ass-cheeks. He pushed them together and pulled them apart.

 

“Yesss, fuck yes.” Clint gasped, his sensitive rim sparking by the secondary stimulation.

 

“Can you come like this?” Agent questioned, his eyes riveted on Clint.

 

“Yeah, definitely, especially if you come first.”

 

“Let me see.” Agent demanded quietly, his voice sexy smooth. Clint shuddered atop him. The command skidded up his spine, tempting him to lean forward just so, allowing Agent’s cock to plow into Clint’s prostate. Clint could _absolutely_ come like this. He whimpered helplessly as he teetered on the edge.

 

Agent sat up quickly beneath him, arching his spine so that his mouth could lick at Clint’s neck.

 

“Scream for me.” He said darkly and sunk his teeth with a perfect amount of force giving Clint just the right edge of pain to paint Agent’s chest with his come. Clint did scream—the sound ended in a broken, shuddery moan.

 

He was still riding the wave, his body clenching and overwhelmed when Agent’s orgasmic energy hit him, spiraling him up, up, up. The magic, strong and pure, filled him with an ecstasy that Clint thought he could die from. His skin, and bones, and blood burned but the pain wasn’t as strong as the bright pleasure and Clint could do nothing but let it rock through him.

 

\--O--

 

Phillip nuzzled into Hawkeye’s neck, enjoying the way his magic blended and transformed inside the half-incubus. As Hawkeye floated, Phillip gently pulled out and positioned them on their sides. Hawkeye mumbled something incoherent but it sounded sweet. Phillip shushed him, and petted him until he came around.

It didn’t take too long for the beautiful assassin’s eyes to clear. Phillip found himself enjoying the sea-green orbs a bit too much.

 

“Fuck, I feel good.” Hawkeye’s speech was slightly slurred, and his tone was a happy hum. He flopped into his back, allowing his eyes to drift shut.

 

“Phillip ran a hand up his flank, “Would you mind if I cleaned you up?”

 

“Uh-uh.” Hawkeye consented sleepily.

 

Phillip shifted lower so that he could spread Hawkeye’s legs. Hawkeye startled up suddenly, his face confused. “Wha—oh.”

 

“Is it a problem?” Phillip grinned up at the man as his tongue lapped up the fluids on his inner thighs.

 

“Uh, no.” Hawkeye shifted his legs wider and did a mostly excellent job of suppressing a shudder as Phillip licked his rim.

 

Philip was willing to admit to himself that Hawkeye’s taste was intoxicating. Phillip was unwilling to admit to himself that that probably meant something. Instead, Phillip focused on the little hitch in Hawkeye’s breath, every time he passed his tongue over his puffy rim or the way his thighs quivered with his aftershocks.

 

Once Phillip was satisfied that Hawkeye was sufficiently cleaned up, Hawkeye had, for the most part, healed himself from their interaction. Phillip kissed Hawkeye languidly for a few moments before they parted and began getting dressed.

 

Phillip was putting on his trousers when he glanced over and caught a breathtaking glimpse of Hawkeye’s sculpted back and shoulder blades. Phillip also noticed the scarring on the assassin’s right shoulder. A brand. A slave brand, specifically.

 

According to Phillip’s reconnaissance work, Hawkeye had reportedly spent time with Carson’s Traveling Circus. A performance company from Waoia, it was no secret that Hawkeye was likely a slave. Phillip found that information confirmed as he stared at Carson’s brand on Hawkeye’s shoulder.

 

“Hawkeye,” Phillip called the man’s attention, his fingers working up the buttons of his dress shirt.

 

Hawkeye looked over his shoulder.

 

Phillip proceeded, “I’d like to ask something but do not wish to cross any boundaries inappropriately. It would be—“

 

“Look Mr. Agent of Shield—“. Hawkeye piped in.

 

“Phillip.” Phillip cut him off, in turn, realizing that Clint had nothing to call him.

 

Hawkeye sighed, “Look _Phil_ , in my book, once your cock has been in my ass, I’d say boundaries are crossed. Ask whatever you want.”

 

Phillip quirked his lips. “Very well, _Hawk_ would you like me to heal that brand on your shoulder?”

 

Hawkeye tensed, his hands clenched tightly around his flimsy embroidered vest. “That’s impossible.” His was tone deadly, and Phillip knew he’d struck a nerve.

 

“It’s not.” Phillip assured him. “It just takes particular magic. I can do it easily.”

 

Hawkeye turned, eyes accusatory. “Why?”

 

Phillip pressed his lips together, realizing his mistake. “Is being in your good graces not enough?”

 

“No.”

 

“Fine then, owe me a favor.” Phillip shrugged, pushing a nonchalant attitude to the surface because he knew Hawkeye would be responsive to it. “Its not a challenging thing, I assure you.”

 

“Why is it that you think you can remove it so easily when I’ve been to countless witches who haven’t had any luck?”

 

Phillip felt his eyebrows crease toward one another. He was curious why the Black Widow of all creatures would lead Hawkeye so astray. “Witches break curses—“

 

“That’s what this is.” Hawkeye spit defensively.

 

“Yes, that is what brandings are but that’s not the way to get rid of them. You’d need the brander himself or a very powerful witch with a few extra crystals she is willing to part with.” Phillip focused on tucking in his shirt. “You need to _heal_ it.”

 

“I’m half shifter half incubus I can heal myself.” Hawkeye’s face was still guarded but his tone sounded questioning.

 

“Your magic isn’t strong enough, mine is. The curse will still be there, but the brand will only appear when you’re severely injured and upon your death. As long as you’re healthy and magic runs through you, it will not be visible.” Phillip tried to explain it clearly.

 

Hawkeye silently slipped on his vest and bent down to pull on silk socks. Phillip assumed it was the end of the conversation and checked his timepiece. Party attendees would expect to see them within the hour.

 

“Yeah okay.” Hawkeye’s spoke up. “But when you call in your favor, I’m not gonna kill anyone for you unless I agree to it.”

 

“Understood.”

 

Hawkeye remained several steps away from Phillip so Phillip shrugged on his jacket and crossed the space between them. Hawkeye turned his back sharply, but watched Phillip over his shoulder, his eyes tracking Phillip’s slightest movements.

 

The brand, still exposed due to the razor cut of the vest was a whimsical C. In smaller font, a year was visible in the loopy designs. Phillip ignored the rolling in his stomach. Hawkeye would have been 9 years old when he was first branded.

 

Phillip rested his hand over the brand, determined more than before to remove it from sight and touch. Phillip could feel the dark magic toxifying the skin and stopping it from healing. Phillip forced his magic into Hawkeye’s pores, whispering an incantation to preserve his magic around the brand. His magic coursed through Hawkeye’s marred skin—giving it the leverage it needed to become the dominant force. The dark magic persisted, but could not overrule the way the skin constantly healed itself.

 

The result was a smooth patch of skin that would be unblemished to the eye and touch. A magical being could sense the presence of a curse if they touched Hawkeye, but Hawkeye could look in a mirror and not see Carson’s brand on his skin.

 

Phillip called a reflective sphere and elongated it so that Hawkeye could view the outcome.

 

Hawkeye carefully inspected the place where the brand had been. “Not bad, Phil.” Hawkeye’s tone was teasing, but Phillip could hear the tightness in the man’s throat.

 

As Phillip was waving away the reflective sphere, he felt more than saw or heard another presence enter the room. Phillip’s body tensed, instinctually.

 

“Calm down Agent Phil, she would have killed you already if she wanted to.” Hawkeye smirked.

 

All at once, Phillip was confronted with who he could only assume was the Black Widow. She was as breath taking as the reports. The vibrant slash of red hair was the least eye catching thing about the woman. She was stunning and inviting and yet so clearly dangerous. It was a fascinating combination.

 

The Widow flicked her eyes casually over Phillip and her face betrayed absolutely nothing. She used her hands to signal something quickly to Hawkeye who shrugged and answered her in what must have been a code language between them.

 

Phillip couldn’t be sure, but she looked annoyed.

 

Their conversation carried on for several minutes. Phillip took the time to study the pair’s dynamic. The Widow was clearly the dominant partner but there wasn’t any sexual chemistry or anything romantic between the two. Sensibly, a half incubus could offer little, by way of feeding to a full incubus. There did seem to be mutual respect. Mostly, The Widow acted sisterly toward Hawkeye or possibly even maternal. Phillip didn’t like how pleased he was by the observation.

 

“I’ve been told you’re owed this.” The Widow stepped toward Phillip suddenly with a small communicator orb.

 

Phillip took the orb hesitantly.

 

Hawkeye was quick to explain, “For your favor. ”

 

“Thank you.” Phillip pocketed the stone. “Are you two all set with plans for Blukai?”

 

The Widow spoke before Hawkeye, her tone clipped “He’s taken care of.”

 

Phillip nodded. Clearly the Widow had taken an unplanned opportunity. Hawkeye seemed unaware, but not shocked at all.

 

Phillip hummed, thinking quickly how he might preserve his cover when Hawkeye and Widow made their exit. He would have to appear incapacitated…

 

“I could knock you out, if you’d like.” Hawkeye had the most sly grin on his face.

 

Phillip pursed his lips. Hawkeye was being helpful, it was just… “I’d like to not wrinkle my jacket in this process.”

 

Hawkeye’s eyes warmed to something almost like affection. Phillip surprised himself with the sudden desire to see that affection grow to fondness. He wanted to _be_ someone to the beautiful assassin and he was way, _way_ , to old for those types of thoughts.

 

“We’ve got something that can knock you out, packs a real headache but the wound will look worse than you’ll actually feel.”

 

Phillip guessed that Hawkeye was referring to The Widow’s bite. Something that had shown up in several of the pair’s and the Black Widow’s suspected kills.

“Yes, I suppose.” Phillip agreed, mostly because he was too damn curious.

 

Hawkeye held out his hands and Phillip shrugged off his jacket. They held each other’s eyes, a wordless goodbye. There was too much that Phillip wanted to say and it all centered around seeing the beautiful creature again.

 

Before any of the embarrassing words tumbled out, Phillip felt the sharp nails of the Black Widow at his neck.

 

He remembered nothing of what happened after, though there was a vague impression in his memory that he heard a conversation between the pair that he really wanted to remember. It was wispy, at best.

 

Phillip woke up to his host passing a cool cloth over his forehead.

 

“Thank Agaberdaì, he’s come around! I can’t loose my accountant and my scientist in the same night.”

 

“What time is it?” Phillip squinted—his head _was_ splitting.

 

“A little after the twelfth hour.” A healer to his right supplied, her competent hands working over the base of his neck.

 

So he’d been out for just over an hour. He settled back down, letting the healers work and listening to Folikiel Kaitail’s rants of revenge, his suspicions as to who hired the kill and how exactly all agendas were suspended until his respect and authority was known across the criminal underworld.

 

Phillip relished the sound. His mission would be finished in no time. Phillip could already see his plan unfolding—taking advantage of Folikiel’s distracted missions of revenge.

 

Soon, he would get a new mission. Maybe he’d ask Fury for one that required an archer of superior quality.

 

 

 

 

_** SHIELD---Supreme Headquarters of Inter-kingdom Ethicae and Legem de Draconicaitus (_ _matters involving dragons)_


	2. Damsel in Distress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phil calls in that favor...

Phillip did the math in his head as he strode toward Fury’s office.

 

It had been two weeks since he had the pleasure of bathing in his own home.

 

One month since he completed the Balikai mission.

 

And 6 months since he encountered Hawkeye.

 

While he resented being called back in so early, his hopes did rise at the possibility…

 

“Coulson.” Fury breathed his name and stood up when Phillip entered the wooden office.

 

Phillip narrowed his eyes at the unusual anxiety in Fury’s presentation. Phillip and Fury had spent centuries together, first in the Eibjørg army and later moving through the SHIELD ranks. They were confidants. Brothers before friends, friends before agents.

 

“What’s happened?” Phillip could sense Fury’s heated magic, strumming under his skin.

 

“It’s Audrey.”

 

Phillip’s fists clenched at his side. Audreya Nathànà. The only creature that he ever came close to bonding with. He nearly claimed her once, and had spent many a year wondering _what if_. He had never met someone, aside from Fury, that could read him so easily, that could _know_ him. _I see you Phillip Coulson._

Fury continued on, to the point, Solia bless him. “18 hours ago she was captured by the Brindinian militia, who I suspect might be working under a HYRDA contract. According to our sources, there was a raid on her research center and she didn’t evacuate. She stayed and destroyed everything, that blasted girl.”

 

Phillip almost smiled, he would expect nothing less of the High Elf. Lighter than a gust of wind but more stubborn than a 1,000 ogres.

 

“Where is she?”

 

“I’ve got a team working on that. I figured you’d want to run point on this.” Fury’s mouth was a grim line. Phillip understood. It was a risk, sending Phillip in already so compromised. But it was a greater risk to keep something like this from him.

 

“I want May, Fitz, and Hill.”

 

Fury shook his head, “May’s on assignment.”

 

Phillip stared pointedly at his old friend and waited.

 

Fury huffed, “Fine, dammit, I’ll evac her, hopefully she can preserve her cover.”

 

Phillip nodded once and turned to leave. He needed the picture wards, and the interview data, and the _report_.

 

“Cheese.” Fury called. Phil turned his head, “Bring her back.”

 

Phillip nodded again. He couldn’t forget, of course, that Fury had loved Audrey too.

 

\--O—

 

“Stop sulking.” Nat reprimanded, her calculated Widow voice piercing him.

 

“I’m not sulking”. Clint slunk down further into the leather sofa. He was well fed—better fed than he had ever been in his life, he was doing something good with himself, for once, and he was shooting a bow pretty much every day. He didn’t have anything to sulk about, at all. So he wasn’t sulking.

 

“The communicator orb goes two ways, you are aware.” Nat continued reading over the latest contract they’d received. Clint stuck out his tongue at the back of her head.

 

“I’m not sulking and I’m not calling him.” Clint grumped. He began planning his next meal run in his head. There was a tavern a mile or so up that was hit or miss with high level supernaturals. He might get lucky.

 

Clint knew that Nat knew what he was doing (and Nat knew that he knew it). Clint was addicted to that feeling, whatever _it_ was with Mr. Agent of Shield. He was hoping he could recreate it with higher level supernaturals and had been sleeping with every High-Whatever that crossed his path. But, he was failing utterly. And with each attempt, his frustration grew. Clint tried to work it through in his head.

 

He didn’t realize he was absently rubbing his shoulder blade, where is slave branding was once visible until he felt a shift in the energy in the room. He looked to Nat immediately, finding her watching him with a sad tilt to her eyes.

 

Clint wanted to rush to say sorry, again, for not coming to her with his request. When she had first taken him on he thought he had already tried everything and didn’t want to embarrass himself by asking. She never mentioned it and he made sure not to make it a thing.

 

 _I could have helped you with that little bird._ He had never heard Nat’s voice so soft.

 

Clint groped for something more than sorry but Nat interrupted him.

 

“Your dragon activated his communicator orb.” Clint bolted off the couch and over toward the table where Nat was spread out.

 

“What? When? Just now?”

 

Nat arched an elegant eyebrow.

 

Clint blushed and ducked his head.

 

“Yes, little bird, just now.” She reached and opened the line.

 

“Hawkeye, Widow, do you read?” Agent Phil’s deep and steady voice filtered into the air of their hideout.

 

“Yeah, we’re here Phil. Have to admit wasn’t thinking you’d be this hard up for favors already” Clint tried his hand at banter, completely ignoring Nat’s shaking head.

 

“Same here. I am, however, suddenly in need of your expertise.” Clint straightened at the sobriety of the man’s tone. Natasha stiffened as well.

 

“What’s up?” Clint leaned toward the orb, despite being able to hear perfectly.

 

“It’s sensitive. May I send you a portal? It would be safer and easier to discuss in person. “ Clint could hear rustling papers. There was a sense of urgency to the call, though Clint couldn’t say how he inferred it. Agent Phil’s voice was nothing but calm, clinical even.

 

Clint looked to Nat who shrugged one shoulder, her eyes remained ever suspicious.

 

“Send a portal for two.” Clint responded.

 

“Done.”

 

Not an hour later, Clint sat, still marveling in what he assumed was Agent Phil’s office. Apparently fancy organizations like SHIELD had the funds for _nice_ portals. Clint didn’t even have a headache.

 

Clint looked around the space. It was simple, clean and utilitarian. There was an elegance to the style, but Clint couldn’t find a single ounce of personality anywhere. Clint looked his fill—grateful that a seemingly low-level lakey led them to the space and not the dragon himself.

 

Clint pictured the agent here and for the thousandth time wondered if he had built the man up in his head. Clint rounded the corner of the smooth wooden desk and plopped himself in the desk chair, leaning his weight back so he could prop his feet on the desk. Phil definitely never tried the position—the chair was way to stiff.

 

Nat snapped her fingers and pointed to the floor. Clint sucked his teeth but dropped his feet as requested.

 

Thankfully, Phil took the next moment to enter the room.

 

And yeah, Clint’s imagination had _not_ been exaggerating.

 

The man was fine as hell. Maybe even finer because his suit looked sharper, and more tailored to his shape than the last time Clint saw him.

 

“Thank you both for coming.” Phil strode forward, his expression only slightly twitching at the sight of Clint in his chair. Clint saw enough in his micro expressions to suspect the man was suppressing a small smile.

 

The woman behind Agent Phil snickered, “Oh _meridea_ Coulson, he already looks like a handful.”

 

Coulson.

 

Coulson?

 

Clint looked to Nat and saw in her face that she was thinking the same thing. Juliena Ethelyn of the House of Coul, current dragon-queen of Coultonburg, had two children—her successor Janiette Amberley of the house of Coul and her son Phillip Jeoffrey of the House of Coul.

 

The man sort of quirked his eyebrow and Clint knew he was confirming their suspicions. Clint tried very hard to keep his shit together because, because the man just confirmed his identity, his FAMILY. Clint looked over to Nat, serene as a swan but her eyes had that tracking look they got when she was attempting to get ahead of the mark.

 

Agent of Shield Phil _Coulson_ stepped to the side, “Agent May this is Hawkeye and The Black Widow.”

 

The dark-haired agent, May, gave them both a propriety downward nod. “I’ve heard impressive things.” She turned to Phil, “Leo and Hill are coming.” She took a seat at the mid-sized round table in the far left of the room.

 

Clint liked her no-nonsense attitude and her easy confidence. For whatever reason he found himself glad that Phil would surround himself with creatures of the more fun variety.

Clint, insufferable as he knew himself to be, piped up—“So Agent _Coulson_ , where do ya get portals like that? Smoothest ride, I’ve ever been on.”

 

“We have an R&D budget.” Phil responded coolly

 

“Big budget is it?” Clint poked and earned a huffed laugh from May in the corner.

 

“That’s classified.” Clint would have felt shut down if he weren’t able to see how warm Phil’s eyes were.

 

“What if I touch my hand to my forward and swear to _solia_ that I will never ever tell?”

 

Nat butted in before Phil could respond, “You needed a favor, Agent Coulson?”

 

Phil nodded and motioned them to the table just as two other similarly dressed agents entered the room.

 

One, a flushed and messy haired mage and the other a poised and lethal looking Vampire.

 

Phil again introduced them, “Fitz, Hill; Hawkeye, Black Widow.”

 

“Spirits, Sir, you could have warned us.” The man, Fitz, shuffled his files to one arm and started petting his hair down. “It is an honor.” He bowed superfluously, nearly loosing his papers in the process.

 

Hill simply arched an eyebrow and moved herself to the table’s edge. Clint scooted over to make sure Nat was between him and the scary vamp. Hill seemed appreciative, letting herself look her full of Nat’s muscled backside.

 

Phil called their attention to the table and triggered a vision orb. The rock and fog terrain of Dantôlcs formed between them. Clint could see the small smattering of structures nestled against one of the rock formations before Phil flicked his hand for the vision orb to tighten it’s focus.

 

“We are currently trying to gain entry into this encampment.” Agent Coulson explained, the cadence of his voice changing to something more controlled and rhythmic. “The buildings are highly enchanted and the guards are very familiar with each other, which has ruled out infiltration.”

 

Clint processed the 3 dimensional depiction quickly, the jagged mountains surrounding the building ensured that an individual couldn’t gain entry undetected. The rocks were deathly for climbing and too open for flying or portaling in.

 

Clint shook his head, it seemed like too much effort. “You’re SHIELD.” Clint scoffed. “You can’t just bomb them?”

 

Agent Coulson shook his head. “Negative.” He licked his lips, choosing his words carefully. Clint could see the tightness forming around his eyes. “There is a woman, a friend, that was captured by the Brindinians. We’d like to get her out alive.”

 

“A damsel in distress mission? How romantic.” Clint snickered.

 

Everyone stiffened like he’d spoke out of turn. Clint only needed to take a quick glance around the room to get why. And when he did, he almost cackled. He was such an idiot sometimes. For having perfect eyesight he missed the glaring mammoth in the room. Nat stepped on him under the table but he didn’t stop himself.

 

“Is she your bonded or something?” Clint hoped his tone didn’t sound too accusatory.

 

“No. But she could have been, once. “ Phil answered smoothly and continued on as if Clint had asked how many guards there were and when shift change was. Clint ignored the flare of jealousy that heated his veins.

 

“We’ve determined that if we can stop this portcullis from dropping completely, the defensive wards can’t seal and we’ll be able to gain entry undetected. If we time this between rounds, it would give us an hour.”

 

Before Phil explained his role in all this, Clint already saw it. The way the portcullis iron was designed, he could shoot an arrow through to the pulley system that controlled its opening and dropping mechanism. He’d have to get a bit high, to angle the shot downward.

 

Phil explained further, “As for you Hawkeye, we would need you to—“

 

“Yeah, I see, flip the angle of the orb so I can see what nest positions I’m working with.”

 

Phil didn’t hesitate and turned the view so that Clint could see out.

 

“Alright, I can blend pretty well there,” Clint motioned to a small ledge in the face of the hill facing the portcullis, “and that’s a good enough position for the shot.”

 

Phil arched his eyebrow at him. “It’s not too challenging?”

 

“Well I can’t very well be down there. “ Clint waived to the barren flatland directly in front of the encampment where the shot would be easiest (relatively speaking) to complete but would expose him completely.

 

“We were going to try and create a distraction of some sort.” Phil explained.

 

“Nah” Clint waived his hand “I can make the shot.”

 

Clint should have been insulted by the way Phil locked eyes with Nat, expression questioning. But, Phil would be crazy to blindly trust that he could make a shot like that.

 

“He’s completed shots with higher difficulty.” Nat confirmed, her eyes that protective level of disinterest.

 

The mage jabbered in, excited like a werepup, “Like in Taaviva. He was in the steeple for that one, wasn’t he? We were all trying to figure out where his nest was but I always knew it was in the steeple but everyone thought it was impossible, they thought...”

 

Nat stared at him blankly. He stuttered to a stop and suddenly realized himself.

 

“Yes. He was in the steeple.” She stated simply and Clint belly laughed at the way the mage gaped, opening and closing his mouth.

 

Clint was mostly humored but also flattered. There was something that he could do for these people, these top level _SHIELD_ agents and high ranking supernaturals. He liked the unfamiliar swell of pride in his chest.

 

They discussed the specifics of the plan, and the thousands of ‘contingency’ plans that Agent Phil had devised. Nat and Clint offered their input generously, after all, Clint’s neck would depend on the evac like everyone else. Nat worked herself into the control post and Clint felt much better about the whole thing by the end, knowing she would be there.

 

Clint wasn’t surprised at all by Agent Phil’s approach to the operation’s coordination. He was detail-oriented, to a fault, and incredibly prepared. Clint _was_ surprised to find that Agent Phil’s team was uncomfortable with him entering the field himself to collect the High-Elf damsel. Hill offered twice to take his position, but he declined her. Clint had to assume that Phil typically occupied the command post, and his field role was shifting the dynamic dramatically.

 

After the rigorous planning session, Agent Phil dismissed his team to speak with Clint and Nat privately.

 

“We’ll plan to leave at first daybreak. I can make accommodations for you here, or I can ensure that a portal will be ready for you in the morning.”

 

Clint already knew what Nat would say.

 

“We’ll portal in tomorrow.” She would no sooner trust staying in a SHIELD facility than a Brindinian prison.

 

Agent Phil nodded. His eyes locked with Clint’s, “This may seem excessive, but, may I have your word that you’ll be here tomorrow.”

 

Clint’s head cocked slightly, confused at first. But then he got it, Agent Phil’s whole mission would be fucked if he didn’t have someone to make Clint’s shot. Clint wondered if he would ever have someone care about him enough to stage such an extensive rescue mission (Nat excluded). “Yeah, I promise. I owe you a favor, after all.”

 

“Thank you.” Agent Phil sounded earnest.

 

He walked them back to the portal hub they entered through, bid them good rest and sent them with the plans for the mission, in case they needed to review them. Clint exaggerated his eyeroll and made a snarky joke about what lovely party favors SHIELD gave.

 

Phil’s mouth did this small quirk thing and Clint turned around before he did something embarrassing.

 

\--O--

 

Phillip waited at the portal hub, a reasonable 10 minutes early for Hawkeye and the Black Widow to arrive.  He readjusted his cuffs for the third time, and really, he was going to put his hands in his pockets because three was his absolute maximum.  The portal mage asked if he wanted to buzz them, but Phillip declined.  He was early. They weren't late, yet. 

 

He reminded himself about the contingency plans should the pair not show up. He had several.  They weren't stellar, but they weren't terrible.

 

Phillip checked his timepiece.  It was 2 minutes past the hour.

 

"They're accessing the portal sir." The young mage informed him softly--clearly concentrating on directing the magic of the portal crystals. 

 

Phillip tried very hard not to look relieved when the two materialized in front of him.

 

"Make you sweat, boss?"  Clint joked. 

 

"Hardly."

 

Phillip kept his expression as bland as possible, considering Hawkeye had come through the portal in a skintight black and purple tack suit.  The Widow nearly matched in a sleek all black body suit. Phillip blinked away the image of Hawkeye sweaty and naked moaning on his cock. Those images were distracting, as was the man's easy swagger, his quiver and bow case slung around one shoulder.

 

"You always rescue damsels in suits?" His mouth quirked in a teasing grin as he looked Phillip over.

 

"Yes." Phillip motioned his head toward the hallway and walked in that direction. He assumed Hawkeye knew that Phillip could spell his appearance to look like anything and was just baiting him.

 

 As they navigated the SHIELD halls, Phillip felt the two fall into step and wondered, not for the first time, what it would be like to have them working for SHIELD. 

 

Phillip led them to the departure rendezvous where May, Hill, and Fitz were waiting. Fitz and Phillip had been to the SHIELD safehouse in one of the small towns at the base of the mountain where the Brindinian encampment was located.  Having something to visualize allowed them to _cast_ there freely without portaling.

 

Fitz casted first with May and Hill and Phillip followed with Hawkeye and the Black Widow. Phillip expected a flirtatious remark when he pulled Hawkeye to his side but didn't get one.  His mouth did twitch in such a way that Phillip figured the half-incubus was holding back. 

 

After arriving, Phillip shook off the haze of his magic, and was pleased to find that the safehouse wasn’t in the worst condition. Teams of people were responsible for the stocking and upkeep of safehouses across the kingdoms but SHIELD also had missions running constantly and one never knew what you were walking into. Phillip had once _cast_ to a safehouse to find, essentially, a burnt frame.

 

Of course, after that, Phillip had made sure to regularly check the safehouse logs at SHIELD headquarters. He even devised a system that could prioritize cleaning/ upkeep teams in the event that a safehouse was, oh, _destroyed_. He officially had a reputation with the Strategic Investment and Support division as “the cleaner”—an old mafia title that referred to Phillip’s thorough way of whipping the division into shape.

 

This safe house, thankfully, stood strong. The grey stone of the small two-story house nestled unassumingly in the classic Dantôlcs fog. The accommodations inside were sparse, filled with rustic wood and iron, but they were complete, which was all Phillip cared about.

 

Hawkeye whistled beside him, “This another SHIELD budget item?”

 

Fitz, Leo and Hill were already setting up their control stations. Fitz, only half paying attention responded, “This region has had low activity recently, we lucked out, the place is still stocked.” Changing gears rapidly, “Also, you two can access this safehouse whenever you want as long as you promise not to kill an unsuspecting SHIELD roommate who might pass through. I just processed your magic through the defensive wards—“

 

Phillip cut off the mage’s rapid talking, “Hawkeye you, Hill and I have to leave within the hour to intercept the supply truck.”

 

Hawkeye nodded, a ‘yeah, yeah, yeah’ tone to his hand wave. “I’ll be on the roof.”

 

Phillip licked his lips to protest but thought better of it. Hawkeye was, essentially, an outside contractor and doing him a favor. Phillip really didn’t have any place to be giving orders. He focused instead on those he _could_ micro-manage and attempted to not let the wayward archer under his skin.

 

By the time Hawkeye came back from ‘the roof’, Fitz, May and The Widow were all set up. Phillip was just attaching the small, practically invisible, vision fleck between his eyes, when the man sauntered in.

 

“Do I get one of those?”

 

Phillip had to turn his eyes away from that grin because it made him want to do the darkest things to the man’s mouth. “Yes, Fitz will set you up.”

 

Phillip, Hill, and Hawkeye spent a few more minutes adjusting their flecks to the larger wards that Fitz was using to project the fleck’s images. The team would be able to see what they were seeing and track the mission more fluidly.

 

Hawkeye clicked his tongue when the projected images cleared and materialized into a 3 dimensional landscape. “You got some handy tricks Agent Coulson.”

 

Soon there after, the trio headed out. Phillip used a cloaking spell to ensure that no one paid them any mind as they moved through the cobblestone streets. Jumping the truck driver was an easy feat, as was spelling Hill so that she looked exactly like him. Phillip put the man under a sleeping spell and stashed him in a neglected horse stall nearby. Hill took the drivers seat and Phillip moved to the back of the truck where the supplies were.

 

Before Hawkeye joined him in the canvas covered bed of the truck—he produced a small bottle of alcohol and presented it to Hill.

 

“I saw him stop at the tavern before he left for the truck. I’m guessing he’s a drunk.”

 

Hill made eye contact with Phillip who nodded. She took the bottle and dashed some of its contents on her neck.

 

Soon enough they were underway, exactly on schedule. Phillip made quick work of creating a cut out in the bed of the truck so that Him and Hawkeye could climb under the vehicle when Hill pulled up to the gate for delivery.

 

“You know,” Hawkeye ventured in a flirtatious tone. The loud bumping of the truck’s wheels on cobblestone nearly drowned out his voice. “This mission may be a bit more than one favor.”

 

Phillip had prepared himself for the half-incubus’s advances. He calculated that they would essentially have a half hour of uninterrupted ride time, alone, with nothing else to occupy them. They wouldn’t activate their flecks until they arrived at the Brindinian encampment and Hill wouldn’t be able to hear them over the loud roaring of the truck’s motor.

 

“I agree.” Phillip responded, resolutely keeping himself on the opposite side of the truck. “I was planning on owing you a favor after this is all over.”

 

Hawkeye hummed to himself in response. He (somehow) managed to gracefully take a few steps toward Phillip—the shaking truck bed creating no barrier to his swagger.

 

“A favor is good, but…” Hawkeye’s hand reached out for Phillip’s tie but Phillip grabbed it before it could make contact. He instantly regretted it—the skin to skin contact only heated his blood further. Hawkeye grinned mischievously, “I think I’ll also need to refuel. Saving damsels really takes it out of me.”

 

Phillip suppressed a growl at Hawkeye’s lustful gaze. Memories of those eyes brightening from green to yellow as he climaxed clouded his vision.

 

“I figured as much. SHIELD has a budget for feeders, I spoke with The Widow about supplying two for you both.” Phillip kept his voice even, thank _Solia_.

 

Hawkeye scrunched his nose, “I’m not in the mood for SHIELD issued-snacks. I think saving your damsel has earned me some dragon magic, don’t’cha think?”

 

Phillip arched an eyebrow. He shouldn’t, really. But he _wanted_ to. And years and years had made Phillip more amenable to taking things he wanted when he wanted them. Nothing was guaranteed in the world, and he had spent one whole cycle of his life learning that sometimes you don’t get opportunities back again.

 

Decision made, he let his eyes sweep over the archers body, taking in every cut of muscle, letting Hawkeye _feel_ him looking—a caress and a promise. “I’ll consider it. Based on your performance in the field, of course.”

 

Hawkeye’s gaze hooded. “I’ll make sure to give you top form.”

 

Phillip, not unkindly, pushed Hawkeye back toward his end of the truck and tossed him a scanner.

 

“Good. You can start by scanning these supplies. Fitz might be able to make something of the readings.” Phillip produced his own and began scanning the boxes and crates on his end. He didn’t want to touch them in case his magical energy activated some defensive mechanism. Even a low-level curse could tip off the guards on the receiving end.

 

Hawkeye snorted. “You’re a drill sergeant Agent Coulson.”

 

Phillip hummed non-committedly but didn’t look up.

 

“It’s pretty hot.” Hawkeye commented but got to work, methodically scanning the supplies on his side.

 

Not long after Phillip and Hawkeye completed their scans, Hill pulled up to the main gate. Hawkeye dropped his playful demeanor and his face became concentrated. Phillip catalogued the shift, mostly because it was equally as attractive as the other sides of the man.

 

The pair silently crawled through the opening that Phillip had created and each held onto the underside of the truck just long enough to roll out and away before Hill came to a complete stop up at the gate.

 

Hawkeye and Phillip shared a nod before breaking off. Hawkeye to climb to his nest, and Philip to traverse laterally toward the portcullis.

 

Phillip focused on staying discreet without compromising speed. He had to get to the portcullis before it closed in order to stay on schedule.

 

As they predicted, an internal van slowly rolled out of the side portcullis—likely going to pick up the supplies that were being delivered by the truck driver-turned Hill. Phillip focused more magic to his cloaking spell and rolled under the gate just in time to witness Hawkeye’s incredible arrow fly through the iron to stop the gate from closing completely. Phillip breathed a sigh of relief. A whole set of contingency plans were now off the table.

 

Phillip had memorized the areal scans of the encampment and made an educated guess as to where the militia was keeping Audrey. Once he got within sensing distance—he found that her magic was permeating, rather intensely, from the complete opposite corner. He activated his fleck and informed the team who copied the new information.

 

Phillip kept to the shadows, dodging a few clamoring guards on their way to another post, and some patrolling the upper wall. The guards did not have high-level magic at all, and Phillip’s cloaking device fared him better than he anticipated.

 

Descending the stone spiral steps of the far west building proved most challenging. The building had high activity and Phillip couldn’t get a beat on any kind of pattern of comings and goings. The corridors appeared too tight for him to just try and go unnoticed. Instead, he opted to disguise himself as a guard, with full face protection—the helmet would be conspicuous inside but Phillip hoped he could slip by unnoticed long enough to get him to Aubrey’s location.

 

Phillip materialized a classic Brindinian messenger scroll for good measure. He hoped the little accessory at least gave the illusion that he had a purpose. The ruse worked for the first three levels, however as Phillip descended further he felt that strong holds of defensive magic heighten. He would be noticed down here, certainly. Phillip moved to a secondary contingency plan. He would have to take out everyone that he passed on this level and hope that they didn’t set off any alarm systems.

 

The first guard, Phillip got the jump on. He was able to stun him and brace him so that the heavy metal armor didn’t clunk against the stone floor. The second guard reacted quickly but Phillip was faster and was able to drop him as well. The third and fourth tag teamed him, but their low level magic was no match for Phillip’s and they two fell unceremoniously.

 

Phillip turned a few more corners before he found where Audrey’s magic radiated the strongest. He distracted the two guards posted with a flare of fire and stunned them quickly in the confusion.

 

When Phillip was able to get a good look at the prison entrance he discovered that the door was booby trapped with all sorts of ancient magic runes. Even the guards at the door could not gain entrance with their magical signature. And one would have to know the exact right incantation in order to open the door undetected.

 

Phillip commed the team, mostly Fitz and made sure to slowly look at all the runes—the deep swirls of the water runes as well as the bright dashes of the fire ones glowed with his proximity.

 

“Any ideas?” Phillip questioned—the need to get to Audrey itched at his palms. He could sense her distress and she was exuding such a high amount of magic, Phillip couldn’t fathom what she was doing or what was being done to her.

 

“Their impressively old wards of the old Dantôlconian tradition. Give me a minute.”   Fitz shuffled around on the other end. Phillip imagined him gnawing at his lip.

 

The Widows precise voice came through next, “Guide the bottom rune’s magic to the two top fire ones—guide the magic back to the first and then out to the left and right ones.” The Widow recited an incantation to him that he committed to memory.

 

“Um… I can’t confirm that sir.” Fitz added haltingly.

 

“She’s good for it.” Phillip let Hawkeye’s whispered assent hang in the air for a few moments.

 

He was running out of time and simply shrugged a shoulder. His alternative was to bowl over the magic of the runes and cause a big scene anyway, and he wasn’t even sure he had that much power in him. He followed The Widow’s instructions and was truly surprised when the stone door rolled sideways, gaining him entrance.

 

His surprise heightened to shock when he took in the scene inside.

 

“my _Solia…”_ Fitz’s shocked slip echoed Phillip’s thoughts

 

Audrey sat curled in a ball in the middle of the room, wrapped in a shield of her own magic that was fraying at the ends. She was using her life force to create a barrier of protective magic that her captors had obviously tried to break through. There were scorches and grooves on the ball of light that surrounded her and, because she was using the magic of her life force to sustain the spell, her body reflected the treatment.

 

But they hadn’t gotton to her, strong girl.

 

Phillip knew, instinctually, that he didn’t have to take care in touching Audrey. He could hear Fitz sputtering over the comm but ignored him. His hand passed through the field of magic easily and although Phillip had to cringe against the sickening waves of Audrey’s pain and fatigue, his hand rested on her smooth shoulder without incident.

 

All at once the ball of light brightened and flashed, and was sucked back into Audrey’s core. She would take months to recover from this, possibly years before her magic was at full capacity again.

 

Audrey looked at him through bleary eyes but there was recognition in those warm brown orbs. “I knew you’d come Phillip Coulson.” Her chapped lips curved into a tired smile. “Took your time though, as always.”

 

“You know me too well.” Phillip scooped the light high elf in his arms and set back the way he came. He knew at any minute that they would be discovered and resolved himself to simply move quickly and protect Audrey from further injury.

 

“You’re drawing a crowd Coulson.” Hawkeye’s grim warning kicked Phillip into high gear.

 

“Spheres blazing was never your style.” Audrey chided affectionately.

 

“I’ve been working on the variety of my skill set.” Phillip fell into a quick jog, until he heard the jingling of a guards armor. He tossed a sphere of stunning magic out—less careful now that he was in exit mode. He took out the following four guards in a similar fashion and set a wall of fire to block all the exits aside from his own. He was surprised that they were able to make it over the buildings threshold before the cavalry pulled themselves together. At least out in the open, Phillip had a better chance. He could always shift to his dragon form and hightail it—though he was trying very hard not to let survivors see his colors.

 

Phillip was slightly hindered with Audrey over one shoulder. Now that her life force magic was trying to stabilize she was drifting in and out of consciousness. Before he could decide exactly how he wanted to go about doing the whole thing, a reign of arrows descended on the Brindinians that surrounded him. The arrows came from above and scattered the guards in their attempt to find coverage and locate the source. Phillip was able to fight his way to the portcullis in the confusion.

 

Hawkeye, he assumed, covered his exit, standing on the piece of wall directly over the gate to ensure that Phillip could safely roll Audrey under, send out a stun wave to incapacitate the growing number of Brindinian militia behind him and roll under himself. How the man got up there, Phil would have to ask later. He thought they determined the outer wall was enchanted.

 

Hawkeye wordlessly covered Phil as they moved back into the shadows and crevices of the rocky landscape. The alarms of the encampment blared out and Phillip, Hawkeye and Audrey were able to get far enough away, fast enough to give Phillip enough time to cast them the hell out of there. Just before he did, he noticed the tearing in the back of Clint’s tac suit, and quickly realized how Clint scaled the wall.

 

When they landed at the safe house, Fitz hurried forward to help lay Audrey on the long wooden dining room table. Hill and May came toward Phillip and Hawkeye assessing for damages. Phillip shrugged them off to look over Audrey.

 

He could sense the teetering of her life force—strong willed as she was, her magic pressed on in shaking bursts. She needed rejuvenation. Phillip had to get her to an elven sanctuary in the next several hours.

 

“Stay with me Audrey.” Phillip muttered and pushed some of his magic into her like a jump start. It wasn’t the same but it was at least a patch. Elves drew their life force from nature and required magicked natural sanctuaries to heal properly under such duress.

 

Phillip quickly activated his communicator orb.

 

Fury’s voice responded immediately, “Talk to me.”

 

“Get over here. I need you to cast Audrey to the Årè sanctuary ASAP.”

 

Fury didn’t respond, just materialized moments later to Fitz’s shocked gasp and May and Hill’s raised eyebrows.

 

“Solia fuck how is she still breathing?”

 

Phillip didn’t bother to answer his old friend, just quickly described what Audrey did to protect herself and her research. Creating a defensive sphere with the magic of her lifeforce ensured that the Brindinian militia could not torture her to gain information. It would be the only spell strong enough to sustain for as long as it did.

 

Fury held Audrey close and gave Phillip a clipped nod, “Good work, get your team home and I’ll update you on her status.”

 

He casted away as briskly as he entered. Phillip had never been to Audrey’s preferred rejuvenation sanctuary or else he would have brought her there himself. It was better that way, however. He could stay with his team and debrief and pack up and Fury could fret over Audrey and make nice with the Highland elves that always chastised him for his explosive temperament and heated magic.

 

Phillip breathed out, the high of the fight wearing off.

 

“Let’s get out of here, shall we?”

 

His team, Hawkeye and The Widow nodded their agreement, making quick work of packing up their station.

 

\--O--

 

Clint was quite honestly shocked that the mission went as smoothly as it did. Granted, he wasn’t sure what the team would have done had he not released his wings and covered Phil’s sorry ass. But all things in accounting, Hawkeye could see the advantages of the whole team thing.

 

Phillip remained in drill sergeant mode as they packed up the safehouse and casted back to SHIELD HQ. Hawkeye never felt cooler—exiting so smoothly even as the rumble of the militia made it into town.

 

The dragon debriefed with every team member— dismissing them with tasks one by one. Fitz was to track how Audrey was kidnapped and why she was being held with the Brindinian militia. From the looks of the dungeon, Phil didn’t think anyone in the militia was savvy enough or powerful enough to have raided Audrey’s research center to begin with. Clint had to agree, all he saw in the stronghold were footmen, no one capable to snatching a high elf in a protected center. May and Hill were to gather more information about Audrey’s research and see what made it so enticing to underworld criminals.

 

When he got to Nat and Clint, he looked a little more spent out. “You both were instrumental today.” Phillip reached into his desk and pulled out two communicator orbs and handed one to each of them. “This is the least I can do.”

 

Clint remembered that Nat had used some of her creepy old world skills to crack Audrey’s prison door—he thought the favor for both of them was pretty fair.

 

“The feeders?” Nat asked casually and Clint loved and hated her for it. Business always business. She would be disappointed that he was so far from thinking like her after their years together.

 

“I can set you up with a high level fairy or Were-shifter.”

 

“I want both.” Nat responded, pocketing the orb. “Female fairy, male were.”

 

“Done.” Phillip remained just as clinical as she and it suddenly occurred to Clint that they both knew he was going to sleep with the dragon.

 

“I’ll meet you both back here then.” Nat stated, like this had all been preplanned. She took the paper that Phil offered her, reviewed it, nodded approvingly (something probably only Clint could tell) and turned to leave.

 

Just before crossing the threshold she looked over her shoulder at Clint, eyes a little warmer, or at Clint liked to hope, “Behave.”

 

Clint smiled stupidly. That was basically I love you from Nat, “Of course.” He joked and made sure his eyes twinkled with the mischief that he felt.

 

After the door closed, Clint and Phil just watched each other, letting the air crinkle with anticipation.

 

After a few moments, or maybe only one, because Clint was an inpatient ass, Clint asked, “So, are we doing this here?”

 

Phil actually quirked his mouth. “No, we are not doing this here.”

 

Clint waited, expectant.

 

Phil offered his hand and Clint took it unthinkingly, which was totally frightening. Phil brought him to his side and casted them to…

 

…to the inside of a massively beautiful mansion. There was marble underfoot and tall impressive columns and gorgeous woodwork.

 

“Somehow _you shouldn’t have_ , doesn’t really cut it.” Clint said, assuming the lovely marbled entry way was a lavish, exclusive sex hotel.

 

But then a white haired butler swiftly appeared, offered to prepare Phil and his guest tea and called Phil ‘Master’ as he bowed away.

 

“Did you take me to your house?” Clint was not sorry for his shocked volume, because, because, _what the fuck_?

 

“Will that be a problem?” Phil arched a calm, infuriating eyebrow.

 

Clint was furious at the idiocy. “Are you fucking insane? You don’t even know me, I could do anything!”

 

“No, you couldn’t.” Phil assured him.

 

Clint didn’t know whether to feel relieved or offended. He didn’t have a chance to feel either, because Phil motioned for him to follow through an archway and Clint (who was really the stupid one in this equation) tagged behind into a comfortable study-like room.

 

It was more Phil somehow than the utilitarian, completely expression-less one at SHIELD. The study was filled with handsome things that struck him as both interesting and expensive. Like, not just those things that were lavish to be lavish but were so beautiful in themselves that you wanted to keep looking at them, covet them.

 

There was a sheepskin map of the old kingdom behind an expertly carved wooden desk and the craftsmanship of both handmade items stunned Clint momentarily. Thing was, Clint’s eyesight meant he couldn’t help but see details sometimes.

 

Phil waited patiently, letting him look his full even though it all felt so fucking personal. When Clint finally met his eyes, Phil was smirking almost… affectionately.

 

They both spoke at once, Phil said “I’d like to talk limits.” At the same time Clint wondered “Who made that desk for you?”

 

Phil reacted quicker, “An old friend, from Sindarìa.”

 

Clint nodded, having so many other questions. He wanted to know the stories about all the clearly loved objects in the room, he wanted to pull the stories inside himself and be treated in the same reverent way that they clearly were. But then he blinked quickly and let those thoughts go, because they would do him no good at all.

 

“What kind of limits?”

 

“Well,” Phil leaned back against the front the desk, hooking an ankle over the other. “I’m in my home, with all my things, I’d like to know if there is anything you absolutely don’t want to do.”

 

Clint had tried so many things over the years and found that his tolerance for sexually based interests was quite wide. But there were a few that would never please him no matter how turned on his partner was.

 

“I don’t like being cut up, that includes crops that split the skin. And I’ll never like drinking your piss and all that. And…” Clint trailed off. He was about to say, don’t tie me up but then he realized he wasn’t actually concerned about that. “and don’t blindfold me.”

 

“Got it.”

 

Clint hated Phil’s confidence even as it thrilled his blood, making it rush all over.

 

That really fucking old butler guy entered the study with his plate of tea and assortment of breads, cheeses, and fruits. Phil thanked him, the man bowed, and strode away. If he felt any kind of way about Clint at all, Clint didn’t see a thing, not even a micro expression. Maybe Phil dragged wayward mercenaries home all the time. Clint dismissed that thought too, just because he disliked it.

 

“I, too, don’t like any of the things you mentioned.” Phil shared as he smeared some cheese on bread and added a dollop of jam..fig? He offered the snack to Clint who shrugged one shoulder and accepted it.

 

“Even blindfolding?” Clint mumbled around his full mouth.

 

Phil smiled slyly. “I like your eyes too much.”

 

Suddenly, Clint felt very much like Phil’s prey. Even though he horned in, made Phil take him home, flirted shamelessly, he felt like the one being lured to the trap. Phil’s eyes were intense on him, promising dark things.

 

“I’d like to take a shower, at some point.” Clint tried to divert the heat that was buzzing under his skin.

 

“Of course.” Phil picked up the platter with one hand and the tea with the other and made a beckoning motion with his head.

Clint followed, yet again, as Phil led him up a back staircase off the study. Phil set the tea cup on his platter and actually pulled down a metal sconce that opened the door (which was the back side of a sliding bookcase) and led them through what had to be his bedroom because it had suits hanging in the closet. And they walked through that to a… pool room.

 

Like a room with pools of water, in exquisite carved marble. Some were clearly deeper than others but the room was expansive with…10 columns in it. When Clint looked up, he noticed that the entire ceiling was glass, revealing a clear night sky. Clint could smell that the water was fresh. Phil outstretched his hand, a have at-it gesture, and reclined himself on one of the chaises by the pool.

 

He continued eating his snacks and sipping his tea.

 

Clint just stood there, surrounded by white linen and stone and completely stunted.

 

He was in a gigantic private bath, with a high level dragon, an agent of SHIELD. When had this become his life?

 

“Strip first Hawkeye. Then get in.” Phil instructed, amusement lacing his voice. “The water’s warm.”

 

“Fuck off.” Clint almost stuck out his tongue but decided to be older than that. He got naked, no show, just a removal of clothing and more or less slid into the nearest pool of water.

 

But mother of Solia the water was divine. It caressed his muscles with its heat and lulled him with its weightlessness. Clint felt his eyes droop in pleasure. He dunked under shortly after and came up feeling like a new creature. Then he dunked under and stayed under swimming around because he could.

 

Somehow when he resurfaced, Phil had gotton naked himself and was sliding in right after him. Clint tracked the dragon’s movements, cataloguing his strong shoulders, chest, his lethalness.

 

Clint didn’t resist when Phil pulled him, just instinctively wrapped his legs around the man’s waist. He suppressed a moan as his cock slid against Phil’s stomach and Phil’s cock pressed against the crease of his ass.

 

Phil secured both hands around him, bringing him close.

 

“The room is designed to accommodate me in several forms.” Phil nosed the side of Clint’s neck and he tipped it back submissively. Phil licked his skin, then nipped sucking on the flesh just to play with it.

 

“You bathe in here in full dragon form?”

 

“Not full form, but my second and third forms, yes.”

 

Clint tried to imagine what that might look like, but truth was, he had no idea. After all, he was only 36 and could safely say he had never seen a dragon in second, third, or full form.

 

“The point is,” Phil continued between sucks. “I want to see your wings.”

 

Clint bristled feeling too many things that were mostly not positive so he settled with, “hell no.”

 

“The water will feel amazing over them.”

 

“No.” Clint insisted.

 

“Why?” Phil’s hand ghosted over his shoulder blades, as if tempting the wings to come out on their own.

 

Clint opened his mouth to retort, but couldn’t think of a reason that didn’t sound petulant. He discarded options like _I don’t wanna_ , and _because_...

 

Clint sighed. He was somehow so easily defeated by this creature. He rummaged internally for a minute, connecting with his Hawk magic and as he pulled the thread and shivered in Phil’s arms through his shift.

 

His wings were pretty wide, a deep, nearly black purple that kind of shined under light. The feathers shook as he stretched, partially under water. He preened, because fuck Phil was right the water and the stretch felt amazing on them.

 

Since Phil had pulled him to the edge of the pool, he could touch the smooth floor. Phil turned him and he went willing, hands reached out to grab the lip of the marble edge.

 

“Beautiful.” Phil whispered like a prayer. Clint felt one finger stroke along the flesh where his wing began and his back started, and the same finger drew along a feather. “What an incredible color, this isn’t shifter coloring.”

 

Clint knew that, but he didn’t have answers. There was probably a whole shit ton of other stuff in him. All he knew for sure, his mom was mostly hawk and his dad…he had no idea because his mom cheated on the abusive piece of shit man he grew up with and she never told him what exactly the guy was. Well, clearly incubus but who knew what else.

 

Clint kept his wings spread. He had to admit that he liked Phil’s careful inspection. He felt like those things in his study, beautiful and rare. Phil kept murmuring, all fascinated. “There are actually markings on the feathers if you look close enough, like a hawk’s wings. But the colors are so dark you have to be close to see them.”

 

And then, and then the man licked the edge of his wing where his skin met feather and Clint moaned wantonly. The seams were incredibly sensitive. And Phil was so assured, like he knew exactly how it felt. Although, he probably did. Maybe Phil’s second form was a partial shift like Clint’s.

 

“Touch yourself.” Phil commanded and Clint’s hand flew to his cock.

 

He shook and moaned as Phil worked his back over, licking, dragging his teeth, biting into his shoulder. Clint was slick and he arched his back so that his ass could bump against Phil’s groin.

 

Phil palmed his ass, spreading the cheeks. He stroked a skillful finger over his hole, massaging and teasing and nearly making Clint beg.

 

“How long can you keep yourself in the air before you tire?” Phil’s seemingly out of the moment question threw Clint, and he took a second to answer.

 

“Uh, I’m not sure I’ve never tested it, but I think probably however long it takes for my magic to get low.”

 

Phil hummed and slid one dexterous finger inside Clint’s body. It felt like a reward and Clint’s body shuddered accordingly.

 

“That makes sense. It costs you magic to stay in your shifted form, correct?”

 

“Uh, yeah.”

 

Phil pressed a second finger inside, stretching and stroking Clint’s prostate. Clint couldn’t suppress his moans, the touch was too gentle to get him off but too firm to be ignored. Phil was working him into a restless lust.

 

“You cannot shift fully into hawk form, I assume.”

 

Clint was slowly loosing the will to engage, he gave a half hearted “uh-ah”.

 

Phil continued pumping his fingers leisurely for a time, working Clint into a foggy lust. And then, “You’ve been feeding from high level beings since we last met.”

 

Clint stiffened at Phil’s comment. He tried to listen for any annoyance or jealously in the tone but found none. He wished he had an expression to interpret, but it seemed like the man was just stating observation.

 

Clint decided to skim over it, humming his acknowledgement by way of response.

 

Phil’s fingers stopped and Clint whined, frustrated.

 

“Why is that?” Phil asked, referring to Clint’s new feeding schedule.

 

Clint huffed, trying to find a placating answer but decided he didn’t quite care enough. He was part incubus and he wasn’t ashamed of fucking other creatures.

 

“I’ve acquired the taste nowadays, thanks to you.” Clint didn’t mean for it to sound defensive, but it most certainly did.

 

Clint almost heard the fullness of Phil’s smile. The infuriating agent brushed his check along Clint’s spine, licking at the seams of his wings.

 

“Every creature’s magic will feel different inside of you, even if they are the same species. Surely you know that.” Phil’s voice was warm, so Clint decided not to get snarky. Plus, the man began pulsing vigorously against his prostate and that about wiped his mind for a full minute. Clint’s hand worked himself firmly, tugging at his cock as his pleasure built.

 

The sound of the water sloshing around them filled Clint’s ears and for a few moments, he thought that he never wanted to get out of the expansive marble pool room. Phil’s hand finger fucked him with such aggressive skill while his other hand smoothed over his flank. It was fucking perfect. But he wanted more.

 

“I want to come on your cock, solia fuck stop teasing me.”

 

Phil breathed out a laugh, “Such a needy little thing. Brace both hands against the edge. If you want to come on my cock, you’ll do it properly.”

 

Clint groaned, his body burning with Phil’s words. He did as instructed and was rewarded with the thick head of Phil’s cock pushing into his hole. Oh merdea, the ridging! Phil took a few leisurely strokes, making Clint gasp, and swear, and beg for more. The flared ridging broke down his mental capacity and made his grip tighten on the edge of the pool.

 

Phil chuckled darkly, “Hold on sweetheart, I’m fitting to give you the fucking you need.”

 

And he didn’t lie. The dragon pounded into him, using his hands on either side of Clint’s hips to pull him back into his thrusts. The ridging hammered his prostate with each bruising thrust and Clint’s mind was nearly wiped completely blank, except for the random observation that the dragon’s strength was not encumbered in the slightest by the buoyance of the water.

 

The splash of the water sloping over the edge brought Clint back to himself. Later, much later, he would be semi-mortified at the sounds he heard himself making. Little broken inhales of breaths coupled with loud moans that made him sound like a filthy Tenien whore.

 

“That’s it, darling, take all the cock you need. Such a hungry hole.”

 

Clint whined, his orgasm stampeding toward him like a pack of cursed war horses. It was bounding on him so fast, Clint was almost scared of the sensation. Just as his body tried to curl away from the thundering release, Phil dragged his teeth along the flesh that lined his wing and shoulder. Clint shrieked, his body locking in a mix of sharp pain and blinding pleasure. Clint’s entire body decided to ragdoll forward held up by the water and Phil’s arm and cock. He half noticed that he shifted back at the height of his orgasm, unable to focus on keeping a hold of his hawk magic.

 

Phil continued to roll his hips lazily, dragging sparks of sensation from Clint’s ass that zinged through his whole body.

 

“Solia, please pull out.” Clint whined, his head pillowed in his hands still holding onto the edge.

 

Phil eased his still hard cock out and pressed a sweet kiss to both Clint’s shoulder blades, near where his wings were just outstretched. The simple touch made him shiver. Phil spun him around and they locked eyes for the first time.

 

Phil’s gaze was raw and heated, a complete departure from the drill sergeant that rejected him in the bed of a Brindinian truck. The dragon before him was all raging desire and wanton need. He slowly dragged his hand down Clint’s chest, along the cut of his abdominal muscles, around his waist. He hiked up his hips and with his other hand took hold of his hard cock.

 

“No, fuck. Don’t.” Clint shook his head. For a few moments he was distracted by the wicked smirk on Phil’s mouth, giving a whole different edge to his face. But quickly, his body was brought to focus on Phil’s re-entry into Clint’s not-quite healed hole.

 

“Ngnn.” Clint arched his neck backward, the ridging of Phil’s cock painful and yet erotic in its overstimulation.

 

“A greedy hole like yours shouldn’t be empty for very long at all.”

 

“Its too much, Its—“

 

“Shh, you can take it.” Phil’s voice hardened and Clint held onto it, using it to let go and ride out the sea of stimulation. Clint’s own cock twitched painfully, aroused by the dominance but spent from its recent orgasm. It would harden soon enough.

 

Phil pulled Clint to him, and seemed content to just float around the pool, Clint’s still throbbing hole occasionally clenching around his cock from his aftershocks.   The kissed slowly, exploring, getting acquainted. Phil clearly was comfortable with controlling the kiss, and Clint enjoyed that, but he also liked fooling around, biting Phil’s lip, pushing his own tongue into Phil’s mouth.

 

Of course, Phil bowled him over when he slid the full length of his tongue down Clint’s throat, stroking, promising. Clint moaned deeply, his arousal blooming again.

 

“Time to get out I think.”

 

Clint whined. He wanted Phil’s orgasm, he craved the white blissed-out high of his magic. He would get bratty at any moment if the man did not deliver soon.

 

“Stop that. I have every intention of fucking you senseless, but I want to do it properly, in bed.”

 

“Fine. Old timer.” Clint grumped. He bunched his muscles, fully expecting for Phil to dislodge his cock and for Clint to climb out of the pool.

 

But Clint had another thing coming. He yelped in complete surprise, when Phil took them to the pool stairs and climbed out with Clint still fully seated on his cock. “Mother of—“ His words cut off as the bouncing of Phil’s stride caused the ridging of his cock to bump Clint’s prostate.

 

And fuck, if Clint were to be honest, the humiliation of being carried on the dragon’s hard pole like a toy tightened his balls until they were aching. Solia bless him he was the sluttiest half incubus that ever existed.

 

Phil brought them back to the room they originally walked through and laid Clint down on the large, plush bed. Clint noticed the supple material of the bedding but couldn’t quite place if he had ever felt it before.

 

And Phil’s cock was still inside him. Just, there, like it had every right to be.

 

Phil ran a hand down Clint’s front. “You’re exceptionally beautiful.”

 

Clint fought a blush. Phil had to be over 400 hundred years old, but he told Clint he was beautiful like he hadn’t seen a million faces that probably looked just like him.

 

Clint grasped for snark, a thin veil between Phil and his vulnerability. “And an easy lay too.”

 

Phil allowed him his humor. He placed out his upturned palm and called some objects to him. First, a set of ornate nipple clamps and then two large gold cuffs with matching chains. Clint couldn’t hide his excitement. For one, his hole fluttered and clenched around Phil’s cock but for another he made gimme gimme motions so that he could inspect the toys more closely. Phil simply chuckled and handed them over.

 

The nipple clamps had the tell tale metal workings of an antique jeweler. The graceful swirls of the gold were intermittently studded with pearl and ruby. The thin, decorative chain between them had regular breaks of the same precious pearl. The cuffs were a bit more fierce, thick and strong. Most notably, the clasps joined together as a pair of wings. On the opposite side of the cuffs was an eyelet, likely for the hook of the chains to latch onto.

 

“So it’s not just a stereotype, dragons really do hoard treasure.”

 

Phil laughed, a light open bark. “Dragons tend to covet things, yes. And shiny, precious things are a particular weakness. But one must never forget Lugudwick of the house of Morgan he collected hunting dogs and it was said at the height of his estate he had over 3,000 of them.”

 

Clint smiled and rolled his hips “What do you hoard?”

 

“Things I find beautiful.” Phil whispered, his voice thick with double meaning. “And unique.”

 

Clint hummed and quirked his lips. “You’re not gonna store me away to wherever these came from are you?” He held up the items resting on his stomach.

 

Phil took the cuffs from him, securing them to his ankles. He kissed the inner arch of each foot before attaching them. “No, you would hardly be appreciated often enough if I did that.”

 

Phil hooked the chains to each of the eyelets in the cuffs and flicked his wrists so that the chains tightened and secured themselves to the hooks in the headboard.

 

Clint shivered. His legs were high and spread in a wide V, completely open to whatever Phil wanted to do between them. It didn’t seem like Phil would bind Clint’s wrists, and in theory Clint could unlock himself because his hands were free. But very quickly, the reality of Clint’s position became clear. He was, magically, incredibly out of his depth. It wouldn’t cost Phil at all to spell him down, do whatever he wanted with him. The cuffs were completely decorative, a nice point of sensation and fantasy but just that. Phil was a _dragon_ , he could have Clint any which way. He always could have.

 

The power imbalance should _not_ have fluttered Clint’s stomach and plumped his cock.

 

Phil just smiled and leaned forward, jostling the ridging of his cock just so. The clamps were a classic clothespin style. Phil flicked his tongue, pebbling each of them up before clamping them with the exquisite toys.

 

“Merdea.” Clint arched his neck, somehow finding himself overwhelmed by two simple bites of pain.

 

“You look divine in my gold, I knew you would.” Phil’s face was so openly hungry that Clint actually fucking whimpered.

 

Phil shushed him, leaned forward and plunged his tongue inside Clint’s mouth, kissing and swallowing Clint’s moans.

 

“Now, I like hearing you, so don’t hold back.”

 

Clint wanted to say something back, something challenging and bratty but Phil had leaned his weight back on his knees, took hold of Clint’s inner thighs and pounded his hips forward in the same moment he pulled the V of Clint’s groin toward him.

 

Clint shrieked in pleasure, his back curving into an exaggeratedly. Phil fucked him through it, deep and unrelenting. It was savage and rough and sexy.

 

“There you go darling.” Phil pistoled his hips at a slightly different angle, lighting up Clint’s prostate and making him cry out brokenly. “There?”

 

Clint nodded vigorously “nnngh.”

 

Clint felt his ankles pulling and looked up, momentarily intrigued by the tightening of the chains. They pulled his ankles backward, practically folding him in half. The bend in his body allowed Phil to drill into him a decisive downward thrust that made the slap of their flesh ring loudly in Clint’s ears.

 

It was a short freefall after that. The pressure on his nipples, the bend of his body, and Phil’s delicious cock working him over, it was a tidal wave of stimulation that crested at Phil’s deep groan and searing orgasmic energy. The last thing Clint consciously noticed was Phil’s babbling. The sounds of whatever ancient language Phil was speaking surrounded him as he floated higher.

 

When he came around, the chains had been removed, tossed somewhere. The cuffs and clamps remained. Phil was licking off the come from Clint’s stomach and dipping lower to lave at his soaking hole.

 

Clint breathed heavily, he settled in the pleasant humming of Phil’s magic buzzing through him, being digested and integrated into himself. The high was truly incomparable and made Clint wonder what in the seven kingdoms made it so special. He felt all giddy, and shiny, and new.

 

Phil moved to his side, propping his head on his hand. He leisurely stroked Clint’s front, passing a thumb over his clamped nipples.

 

“It’s going to hurt when the blood rushes back in.” Phil twirled the chain, a sadistic little grin on his face.

 

“Just do it you bastard.”

 

Phil leaned down and captured Clint’s mouth, kissing him softly until Clint sighed. Phil made sure to keep his mouth there as he pulled off the first clamp and then the second. He sucked down Clint’s groans and muffled his whines with his tongue sliding down his throat.

 

Phil worked his kisses down the side of Clint’s throat and suctioned his lips over one abused bud then the other. Clint hissed and rubbed his hands down Phil’s muscled back.

 

“There. All better.” Phil commented, pecking each nipple with a kiss.

 

Clint snorted.

 

“You know, your hair also gets a bit more golden after you have fed.” Phil scratch Clint’s scalp. Clint purred in pleasure, and Phil ran his hands through a few more times.

 

“It used to do that a lot when I first started feeding. But it hasn’t done it in a while.”

 

Phil considered that. Clint waited for more of his digging questions but none came. After a few minutes, Phil mentioned he was getting dinner downstairs and invited him on a tour. Clint managed to find himself roaming the rooms of a dragon’s mansion and eating dinner with him, getting fucked on the dining room table with the ingredients of said food (namely the dessert) then carried semi-lifeless back to bed.

 

Curled up, more content than a baby bennù, Clint enjoyed Phil’s post-sex affection. Phil’s lips explored the nape of his neck and over his shoulder. His hands never ceased their gentle petting and rubbing.

 

“Did you learn archery in the circus?” Phil whispered the words in the space where Clint’s shoulder met his back.

 

Clint wasn’t at all surprised that the dragon had recognized his brand from before. “Yeah, this elf-mix named Trickshot taught me.”

 

“How old were you?”

 

“I don’t remember, seems like he was always teaching me to shoot. I was 13 when I started performing.” Clint smiled at the memory. He hadn’t been all that graceful yet and certainly wasn’t as good as Trickshot but one guy in the audience said he had flair and they applauded like he was a 10 star performance.

 

“Sounds like you enjoyed it.” Phil nuzzled behind his ear and Clint tipped his head so that he had more room.

 

“Most of it, yeah. Other stuff was pretty shitty.” Clint’s mind flashed memories of the whips on his back after the circus changed hands. When the new ring master sold Barney and killed Trickshot.

 

“You didn’t like the brand.”

 

Clint paused. It was complicated and he wasn’t sure why he was even getting this personal with an Agent of SHIELD. Carson had put that brand on him but it didn’t mean the same thing in the beginning as it did in the end. Still…“I didn’t like that they owned me. And by the end…” Clint trailed off. By the end, it was as exploitative as the stereotypes made it out to be.

 

Feeling much too open, Clint decided to turn the tables of the discussion. “So… you’re like a prince?”

 

Phil laughed and tugged Clint’s body snugly against his own. “Yes.”

 

“Yes? Just yes? Solia, what the fuck are you doing at SHIELD?”

 

Phil sighed. “I tried to get into the politics arena, but that’s where my sister shines. I’m better suited for missions, and fighting, and espionage. In the best of moments my family almost accepts that.”

 

“So, are those,” Clint motioned to the jeweled clamps, discarded on the nightstand “like your great great grandmother’s royal clamps?”

 

“Brat.” Phil nipped Clint’s shoulder. “No, I won those in a Numen game, at a very decadent, tasteful, strip club.”

 

“I’m touched.”

 

“Brat.” Phil repeated.

 

Clint dipped his head back just as Phil pulled him. They kissed, gently at first but it didn’t take long for Phil to deepen it. He stroked his tongue expertly into Clint’s mouth and down his throat. After, they crawled to the top of the bed to slip under the covers. Phil flicked his wrist and the light from the chandelier cut off.

 

Clint wasn’t sure why, maybe the shroud of darkness made him brave, but he whispered, “Phil?”

 

“Hawk?” Clint cringed. He wet his lips to correct the man, but too much training held his tongue. He couldn’t tell him his real name, he couldn’t go that far. The thought sobered him enough to press his lips against what he had meant to say. _Can I see you again?_ Clint swallowed around the words. For one, it sounded much too needy, and for another, him and Nat still had a communicator orb to call in their favors.

 

So instead, Clint said, “I want to swim in your baths tomorrow before you portal me back to SHIELD.”

 

“Of course sweetheart.”

 

And that was where they left it. Clint did swim in the baths the following morning, more or less unmolested. And if he wanted to stay another night with the dragon, that was no one’s business but his own.

 

Phil stepped them back to SHIELD headquarters by the early afternoon. When they arrived, Phil was practically bombarded by his team, attempting to fill him in on what they discovered about Audrey’s case. Clint was curious about their information but felt out of place to ask.

 

Phil warded off the excited agents long enough to personally walk Clint to the portal where Natasha was waiting for them. She looked refreshed and pulled together, as always.

 

“Although I know the answer I have to ask,” Phil began as the mage geared up the magic of the portal crystals, “you two wouldn’t consider working for SHIELD, would you?”

 

Clint raised his eyebrows, more surprised that his instant reaction wasn’t flat out disgust.

 

“We are all set for now.” Nat answered smoothly.

 

Phil locked eyes with him, and it took everything inside of Clint to crush the bit of hopefulness he saw there. “You have plenty of cool supernaturals working for you already Agent Coulson, no need to get greedy.” Clint joked.

 

Phil smiled, a simple press of his lips. “I figured. You two be safe. Call when you need those favors.”

 

The portal was nearly ready but Phil didn’t wait. With a proprietary bow of the head, he turned on his heel and strode away.

 

Clint’s “You got it.” was said to Phil’s back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *author smiles apologetically* So sorry for the wait! Don't worry, these boys have a little ways to go and I won't give up on them, but finding time to write is proving more difficult these days :( As always, all feedback welcome. I will be addressing some of the corrections I've received so far--thank you for the extra editing eyes!


	3. Pickpocketing Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawkeye bumps into Phil after a mission...

Phillip watched the cocky Sindarìan tiredly. Truly, how exactly does someone spend hours (plural) watching creatures dance and shift seductively. Why not pay for the goods or find something better to do? Phillip checked his timepiece again. Though integral to him figuring out what Hydra had planned to do with Audrey’s research, this particular solo mission ranked top 15 most boring in his career with SHIELD.

 

The mark, Hidal Magdalenia was a high ranking Sindarìan aristocrat in possession of an ancient Scucamadìan stone. The pendant that Magdalenia wore around his neck was a family heirloom that he recently inherited from his late father. Sadly, the haughty and ignorant vampire had agreed to “loan” the pendant to a HYDRA contractor for an exorbitant amount of Sindarìan lunes. Phillip shook his head at the idiocy, did the man really think he was getting the pendant back?

 

In any case, sitting at _Amora_ , the most expensive whorehouse in Sindarìa was Phillip’s only window to lifting the pendant from Magdalenia. The creature had a weekly ritual of watching _Amora’s_ renound dance show, which changed its sets and line up every 10 days, and spending the entire evening sleeping with several of his favorite whores.

 

Sometime between the show ending and the beginning of Magdalena’s mindless fucking, the man was known to remove his pendant and place it in the keeping of his most trusted body guard.

 

Phillip continued to wait him out, highly aware that he had spelled his appearance to look like that of a seductive, dark-haired female pixie. Being a highly attractive female in the male-dominant kingdom always boiled his blood. Honestly, what cycle were they in?

 

Anther half hour dragged on and Magdalenia made his way to the back area, where the entrances to the private suites were. Phillip straightened in his seat, waiting for his exact pocket. Not 20 minutes later, he slunk his way through the crowd to the back rooms. The owner of _Amora_ owed Phillip a few favors and was more than willing to provide Phillip with his cover as an _Amora_ employee.

 

Phillip knew exactly which room Magdalena would be serviced in and followed the black velvet hallways until the three men of Magdalena’s security party came into view. According to Phillip’s source, Magdalena’s guard dog had quite the thing for dark haired pixies. Phillip’s intel was confirmed as he sauntered by the man, only giving him a cursory glance. The man tracked him intently, his desire completely evident.

 

Around the corner of the following hallway, Phillip’s hired hands awaited. Phillip contracted twin minotaur mercenaries to kidnap the dark-haired pixie employee of _Amora_. The Twins”, as they were called in the Sindarìan criminal underworld, were utterly ruthless and blissfully dumb, a perfect combination for this mission. Phil provided them with a way in and a map to where the pixie would be most isolated from the crowd. If the pair were killed in the second half of the mission, Phillip could have cared little. They were non the wiser, only knowing that they were contracted by a dark-skinned man (another disguise) wearing all black leather.

 

As instructed, The Twins did an impressive job of getting the jump on Phillip. He used a low level dust spell to distract them so that he had enough time to release a blood-curdling scream.

 

“Help! Hel—“ Phillip’s mouth was covered by a calloused hand within moments.

 

Phillip struggled, buying enough time for Magdalena’s guards to assess the situation. It was a risky play, and Phillip hoped he hadn’t under-estimated The Twins.

 

Thankfully, his assessment was sound, and The Twins did not have enough time to drag him to the employee back exit before Magdalena’s guards were upon them.

 

One broke off to get _Amora_ club security (which the owner had made sure to make sparse for Phillip) and the other two went hand-to-hand with The Twins.

 

Phillip made quick work of releasing himself from the rope bindings around his wrists and ankles and ran like he was trying to get away. One of The Twins lunged for him, Phillip let him grab hold and twisted away such that he could slam himself into Magdelana’s chief guard. With more than enough distraction and time, Phillip was able to swipe the jewelry box from the inside of the man’s jacket and replace it with a decoy.

 

Phillip kicked his way out of the hold and ran back down the hallway just as _Amora’s_ security rounded the corner.

 

“There are two mercenaries! Quick before they hurt the customer’s men!”

 

Phillip slipped away with the commotion behind him, and took the next empty stretch of hallway to drop his disguise spell. He slipped the box into his own inner jacket pocket and emerged casually back onto the main floor. He walked calmly to the exit, just another customer of the club.

 

It shouldn’t have surprised him, but it did, when he felt a familiar sizzle of magic bump him in passing. Phillip whirled his head, eager to get a look at the half-incubus that had been shamefully littering his thoughts over the past year. But the man had blended too well into the crowd and Phillip didn’t want to compromise his exit.

 

Phillip marinated in his disappointment for a block, wondering if he should risk disguising himself again to go back and track Hawkeye. A block after that, Phillip stopped short and barked out a surprised laugh.

 

He reached into the inside pocket of his suit jacket, knowing what he _wouldn’t_ find there. Sure enough, instead of a jewelry box, he found a hotel notepad with a room number scrawled in the center of the top sheet.

 

The Luna Hotel, 2257

 

Phillip knew the hotel well and headed in that direction. If his heart-rate picked up and he couldn’t keep the ridiculous smirk from his face, that was his own business entirely.

 

-O-

 

Clint waited impatiently inside his hotel room. He had, of course, opened the box that he lifted from the dragon. The pretty pendant inside was surely valuable in its own right, but Clint figured there was some, end-of-the-world-as-we know-it tie, if a high ranking SHIELD agent was retrieving it.

 

Clint felt giddy. When the night began, he had every intention of courting some random high-level supernatural. Clint was wrung out, he and Nat had just finished a grueling contract that gave each of them too little time to feed properly. They had gone their separate ways for the night, eager to recharge and get some much needed R&R before returning to their homebase. Seeing Phil himself at _Amora_ filled Clint with a child-like excitement. He hadn’t intended to lift anything important from the dragon, he was shooting for a wallet or something. This was way better, though.

 

Not too long after he returned to his room, he heard a confident double knock on his door. Clint grinned and took his time getting it. When he opened the door, he derived absolute pleasure from Phil’s shocked eyebrows as the dragon absorbed Clint’s nude form.

 

Before Phil could say something witty and sexy, Clint dragged the man into the room, locking his lips onto his mouth. Phil groaned and kneaded Clint’s ass, kicking the door closed with his foot. Without hesitation on either their parts, Clint got a good grip on Coulson’s shoulders and hopped up. Phil caught him under his ass and supported Clint while he locked his thighs around his waist.

 

They kissed like that for a few eternal moments. The feel of Phil’s tongue stroking down Clint’s throat sparked a craving he’d been having for over a year. He moaned into Phil’s mouth and pulled back.

 

“Hi.” He smiled dopily, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth.

 

Phil’s eyes crinkled. “Hello.”

 

“So, I’ve got your necklace, not really your style if you ask me.”

 

“I thought it would suit me on special occasions.”

 

Clint shook his head solemnly, “I hate to burst your bubble agent Coulson, but you couldn’t pull it off.”

 

“That’s too bad, it took some effort to come by such a piece.”

 

Clint unhooked his ankles and Phil let him go. His eyes widen the tiniest fraction as Clint attacked Phil’s belt buckle and the pants underneath, using focused energy to get them to set his prize free.

 

“Effort, huh? I guess that makes you motivated to get it back.”

 

“Yes. It does.”

 

Clint slid to his knees and looked up with round eyes. He licked his lips and began mouthing at Phil’s thinly covered cock. He made sure to build up moisture, so Phil could really feel him through his underwear.

 

“Let me suck your cock and we’ll see what I decide. Fuck, I’ve been wanting to for like a year.”

 

“Yeah?” Phil’s voice grew husky as he pulled his underwear down to free his beautiful, beautiful cock. “You’ve been thinking about me fucking that bratty mouth?”

 

Clint’s grip on Phil’s thighs tightened in pulse with his hardening cock. “Yes, fuck my throat, solia please.”

 

“Suck on the head, show me how good you can make it.” Phil instructed, his back and head resting against the soft blue of the hotel’s wallpaper.

 

Clint whined and leaned forward. He lapped at the head swirling his tongue, flicking it into the slit to get it all wet for him. The taste of Phil’s cock caused his eyes to flutter closed in pleasure. Before Phil could call him a tease he wrapped his mouth around the head and suckled it, he wanted to take past the first ridging but knew Phil wouldn’t let him. He tried to apply himself, show the dragon just how much he’d been wanting to suck down his cock.

 

Clint released a broken noise at the feel of Phil tightening his hand in Clint’s hair. He pulled Clint off his cock and tugged so that Clint looked up at his face.

 

Phil’s thumb traced Clint’s moist lips, “Such a lovely lovely cock sucker. Now, open that mouth wide, I’m not stopping until I’m shoved all the way down your throat. Keep your hands where they are.”

 

“Yes.” Clint begged, already getting a little high from this exchange alone.

 

Phil slid his cock in a slow, firm thrust that would have choked the average creature. But incubi didn’t have a gag reflex and although they needed to breathe, they didn’t need air at the same levels as other supernaturals.

 

Clint could feel the ridges as they passed down his throat. He locked eyes victoriously when all of Phil’s cock was finally inside his mouth.

 

“Beautiful.” Phil whispered, his eyes transfixed on Clint’s stuffed mouth. He rubbed his thumbs along the seams of Clint’s stretched lips.

 

With a wicked smirk, Phil drew his hips back and thrust forward. He secured both hands to the either side of Clint’s face and fucked his cock in and out of his throat. Clint made broken little noises and whimpers the taste and feel of Phil’s cock inside his mouth. Clint’s own cock was leaking a stream of pre-come. If Phil came down his throat, Clint would come without a touch to his cock.

 

Clint tried to work in his tongue where his could, pressing into the underside of the head, licking and swirling the shaft. A couple times, Phil pulled out and rubbed the head along Clint’s lips, Clint made sure to chase the delicious cock with his mouth, wanting it back inside where it belonged.

 

“Such an eager mouth.” Phil complemented warmly.

 

Clint sucked him and then later kept his throat open and willing for Phil to use. By the end, Phil was pounding his hips forward, his heavy balls slapping Clint’s chin. Clint’s voice would definitely be hoarse after the thorough throat reaming.

 

“I’m going to give you what you need darling.” Phil promised. And shortly after he shoved his cock as far into Clint’s mouth as it would go and shot his seed down Clint’s burning throat.

 

Clint gulped it down, the energy from Phil’s orgasm prompting his own. He felt the dragon’s intoxicating magic zing through his body, burning and lighting him from the inside out.

 

When he came back around, Phil was gently lifting him up and laying him on the hotel bed. Phil’s hand tugged at Clint’s cock and Clint whined, still riding the wave of Phil’s orgasmic energy.

 

“Look at this half-hard cock. You came with only a cock in your mouth.” Phil rolled Clint’s balls in his hand and lazily stroked Clint’s cock to hardness, despite Clint’s tired whimpers. Every few stroked he would pass his hand between Clint’s ass cheeks and rub his soaking hole, making the sensitive rim flutter.

 

“On your knees, arms stretched out in front and ass in the air.” Phil commanded, and slapped Clint’s stomach lightly to get him into gear.

 

Clint definitely wasn’t fully coordinated quite yet but he did as instructed, making sure his ass was on full display for the dragon.

 

“Gorgeous.” Phil took a handful of Clint’s muscled ass cheek and then slapped it. Clint yelped and then moaned with pleasure. Phil did the same to the other one and then back and forth until Clint could feel heat coming off his skin.

 

Clint felt the juices of his ass leaking over his balls, he was so turned on. He arched his back a little more, begging for Phil to fill him up again. He didn’t expect the dragon to press his cock against his rim without stretching him first, but he was plenty wet and didn’t mind at all.

 

Phil pushed in assuredly, in much the same way he entered Clint’s throat. Considerate not to cause undue harm, but forceful enough to make Clint cry out and hiss at the stretch.

 

“Nice and tight and wet for me.” Phil hummed, as the third ridging breeched Clint’s channel.

 

Phil pulled fully out and waited a beat. Clint flexed his hole eagerly, “Phil, come on!”

 

He chuckled and re-entered, but made sure to pull out and wait a few more times. Clint was growling by the fourth time, antsy to take it the way he knew Phil could give it. Phil didn’t make him wait too much longer for it, he thrust forward in even hard strokes, whispering, “there you go darling” as Clint gasped and moaned.

 

How could Clint forget how Phil’s cock lit up his prostate, abusing it with its ridging?

 

“Yes, fuck, yes, I can feel you in my stomach.” Clint groaned into the bedding, his hands fisted in the fabric.

 

Phil fucked him through it, and in the same ruthless way he entered, fisted Clint’s cock and stroked it roughly until Clint was spurting all over the top of the comforter. But the evil dragon made sure that Clint had to take Phil’s cock for a while still. He wasn’t close to finishing just yet.

 

Clint sobbed as Phil continued to pound into him, his abused prostate spiking pain and pleasure in equal spikes. Phil was getting there but by the sounds of his breathing and he evenness of his strokes still had time to go. Clint tried to tighten his hole but the stimulation along his rim made it difficult to sustain.

 

Clint’s cock was slowly perking up, interested in the dominance and the continued stimulation.

 

Phil shoved him down and pressed Clint into the bedding as he rutted toward his second release. Clint encouraged him, his voice hoarse and still wrung out from his last two orgasms.

 

“Come on Phil, fuck me, give it to me, I want it, I want it.”

 

“Of course you do, beautiful, greedy, slut.” Phil slapped his hips against Clint’s ass, shoving deep a few more times before coming inside him.

 

Clint didn’t have it in him to scream, he simply arched his back, his mouth forming a broken gasp as the energy made him orgasm for the third time. Everything brightened and stretched and ached. The ecstasy felt like forever, somehow.

 

He was still breathing heavily when he came around and was welcomed back into consciousness by Phil’s strong tongue cleaning between his thighs and over his stomach.

 

Phil crawled his way over Clint, “You have single-handedly saved this mission from my top 10 worst list.”

 

Clint wiped a hand over his face and smirked, “Is that suppose to surprise me?”

 

Phil kissed him, a sweet caress instead of the hungry fire of before.

 

Phil stretched out on his side and took to rubbing and fiddling with Clint’s nipples. “How have you been?”

 

Clint shifted. He knew Phil could tell that Clint hadn’t been feeding well. It took a noticeable toll on his magic. “Alright. Haven’t had much downtime recently.”

 

“Are you on an active assignment?”

 

“Contract.” Clint corrected. “We just wrapped up yesterday, actually. I was trolling for a John when I saw you at Amora.”

 

“Another success, I hope.”

 

“Yeah, just took longer than we’d hoped.”

 

“mmmm. I know the feeling.” Phil glanced at his watch and sighed. “I should check in soon, they’ll think something came up.”

 

“I’d say something did come up.” Clint punned, waggling his eyebrows.

 

Phil took hold of Clint’s chin, “Brat” he said sternly, though his eyes were soft. “My pendant?”

 

“I guess you earned it.” Clint rolled off the bed and stretched. Fuck he felt good, deeply sated and re-charged. He went over to his pants and pulled out the box, tossing it back to Phil who caught it effortlessly.

 

“Thank you, this is still part of the case with Audrey.” Phil stood and tucked the box into his suit jacket.

 

“You don’t have to tell me.” Clint waved his hand. He didn’t want Phil to feel that he had to over-disclose. Clint hadn’t meant to disrupt a mission by lifting the box off Phil, just to have a little fun. “I’m showering, you coming?”

 

Phil nodded and followed him into the small bath. They spent half the water supply making out and groping at one another, but managed to get relatively clean by the time their ration expired.

 

“Fucking hate desert cities.” Clint muttered as the showerhead sputtered out.

 

“You have an open invitation to my baths, anytime you like.” Phil called over two towels with his magic, and handed one to Clint.

 

Clint didn’t say anything to that either way, a humorous “How kind, my lord.” to joke off how much he like the idea.

 

They got dressed, swapping banter and recommendations for seedy street food spots. They both agreed Ludaya’s was the best in the city, hands down.

 

Before Phil left he pulled Clint into a deep kiss that felt much more propriety than anything else he’d done with him before. “Are you going to make me wait a year to see you again?”

 

Clint couldn’t filter his wide smile, the warmth in his stomach was too strong. “Missing me, were you?”

 

“Yes.” Phil admitted simply, like it was the easiest thing in the world. Clint marveled at the concept of saying exactly what you want, to who you want to say it to. “How long is your next contract?”

 

“I dunno yet.”

 

“Well, I’m in Urepú in four rotations, and I’ll probably be there for the full rotation.” Phil’s eyes looked hopeful.

 

Clint pretended to shiver “Fuck, I hate euryales, nasty fucking creatures, but the views are nice there.”

 

Phil’s eyes crinkled. “There’s a treehouse lodge with private villas, good for flying and excellent views.”

 

“You sound like an advertisement.” Clint looped his arms around Phil’s neck. He was oddly touched that Phil would consider how much he would like nest-like accommodations, “You’re paying?”

 

“Of course.”

 

They kissed again like lovers. Clint didn’t want to admit that his next four months looked a lot brighter now that he had something like sex with Phil to look forward to.

 

He could convince Nat to pick up a short contract, nothing too taxing that could get complicated, like the last one. Urepú wasn’t too difficult to portal to from their home-base and he had some fun money squirreled away.

 

Clint shut the door behind Phil and rested his head against it. He probably should sit down with himself and figure out what the hell he was doing with the Agent of SHIELD, before it got messy and weird. He didn’t want to have that conversation with himself though, and he still had several hours to kill before he and Nat were gonna rendezvous.

 

He fished out his bow from where he’d stashed her and started cleaning her. He caressed her gently and hummed softly while he worked. Just as he was finishing up, rubbing the oil into her edges he heard a familiar double knock at the door.

 

Something inside him confirmed, with a surprising certainty that it was Phil on the other side of the door. Clint, trained too well to even believe new gut instincts, locked an arrow into his bow anyway and headed toward the door. Clint cracked the door just a bit, standing behind it. As Phil began opening it all the way, Clint stepped back and aimed his arrow.

 

Phil entered fully and closed the door, completely unfazed by the weapon just steps from his face.

 

“So I checked in and called off any potential search and rescue missions, which bought me a few more hours. I thought we could go to Ludaya’s, grab some mystery meat sandwiches.” Phil paused. Clint kept his pose. It wasn’t so much that he was still suspicious of Phil but that he couldn’t quite process that Phil was kind of asking him out. “I’m not sure when you’re rendezvousing with Widow, but I figured Ludaya’s is close enough. Also, I officially hate you for making me ramble in your doorway while you get to look handsome and cavalier with a bow and arrow.” Phil huffed and adjusted his cuffs.

 

Clint couldn’t help but grin, “Sorry, it was just super cute.”

 

Phil narrowed his eyes and Clint caught a glimpse of what bad guys see before they eat it at Phil’s hands.   “Yes, cute is exactly what I was going for.”

 

Clint put his bow away into her discreet travel bag. He was never hungry after a sexual feeding but a cold chela could definitely hit the spot. Clint crouched down and from his knees, reaching for a boot that had managed to get itself to the exact middle of underneath the bed he said, “I’m not hungry for anything right now, but treat me to an ice cold chela with a monela wedge and I’m down.”

 

Clint caught hold of the lip of his black boot and pulled it out. He sat at the edge of the bed to tie up his laces.

 

“I can certainly do that.” Phil confirmed. When Clint glanced over, his heart skipped a couple beats at Phil’s fond expression.

 

Boot tied, bow slung over his shoulder, Clint walked out of the room with Phil.

 

On the way, Phil told him about his friend in Sindarìa that made him his desk, because Clint had asked. And Clint smiled up at Phil and kissed him on the cheek when Phil placed his hand at the small of Clint’s back to cross the street.

 

Phil ate a mystery meat sandwich and bought Clint two chelas as Clint whined about his last mission. Phil offered corrections to Clint and Nat’s planning that would have been helpful, but actually weren’t because there was nothing Clint could do about it and he told Phil so. Phil laughed amiably and apologized.

 

They made out in the alleyway behind Ludaya's. Clint shuddered and whimpered as Phil left love bites along the column of his neck. And Phil said ridiculously hot stuff like, “You make me want to mark you up so no one else can have you.”

 

When Clint returned to the hotel room, Nat was perched in the window. Her hair was vibrant red again after her feeding and the wind blew it softly off her neck. She took one look at him and sighed, “Little bird, there are some things you should know if you’re going to start dating a dragon.”

 

“I’m not _dating_ a dragon. I’m sleeping with one semi-regularly-ish.”

 

“You smell like him and Ludaya's.” Nat stood from the window and pulled her jacket off the chair.

 

“You say that like it’s suppose to mean something.” Clint rolled his eyes. “One chela, well two chelas, does not dating make. I may be 37 but I think I can safely make that assumption.”

 

Nat slung her weapon bag around her chest. “I cannot tell if you’re being naïve or intentionally obtuse.”

 

“Neither. Don’t forget your lipstick in the bathroom.”

 

“I packed it already. And fine, I’ll save my lesson, but I maintain my belief that you are now, wittingly or unwittingly, dating a dragon.”

 

Clint scoffed, shaking his head at Nat’s exaggeration. Clint was sure of himself though. Fancy prince dragons that were also Agents of SHIELD did not date guys like Clint. Wasn’t that obvious?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Thank you for all the lovely comments and feedback, they helped me push this chapter out faster :) Also, the long weekend gave me some much needed downtime. 
> 
> A sneak preview at the next chapter: it's called 'Treehouse Interlude II' and we find out a little more about what's going on with HYDRA and Audrey's research and also why Clint's wings are so weird... Happy reading! And please remember, all feedback is welcome :)


	4. Treehouse Interlude II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint and Phil hang out in a treehouse and there are so many feelings....

Clint hustled through unpacking his bags from their latest contract. If he hurried, he could make the last portal out and land in Urepú by the midday hour.

 

“Rushing off to see your boyfriend?” Nat arched a knowing eyebrow. “I thought you said he’d be there until the end of the cycle?”

 

Clint pursed his lips. He knew his behavior was a giveaway. If he were smart, he would have rested and portaled out the following morning. Phil would still be there for 10 more days, after all.

 

“Hey, I’m hungry okay?” Clint didn’t look at her. His excuse sounded lame in his head, let alone in the air between them.

 

They both knew his antsy energy was coming from more than just a need to feed. There was something _else_. Something much too sticky for Clint to willingly look hard at.

Natasha made a non-committal hum but passed him fresh clothes. “I’ll finish your bag. You shower.”

 

Clint gave her his sweetest smile, which she responded to by not too kindly pushing him toward their bathroom.

 

Working as a team, Clint was able to make it to the last portal with a few minutes to spare. As he waited in line for the mage to gather the necessary magic in the portal stones, he settled himself by cataloging his knapsack. He reached to the side of his pack to properly secure his canteen and found a note in Natasha’s neat scrawl. “Don’t be stupid.”

 

Chuckling, he stepped up when he was called and grit his teeth against the bumpy throes of a cheap portal ride. Quick enough, he was stepping off the platform and into the sticky humidity of the jungle climate.

 

He and Phil hadn’t exchanged much information that night at Ludaya’s, but that was okay, Clint had more than enough to find his way. One chat with a native and a quick highline view later, and he was hiking up to a cluster of private cliff villas. Built into large, ancient trees, the villas were literally glamorous tree houses. His inner hawk perked at the idea. With each step, underbrush and tree canopys thickened and Clint’s excitement built.

 

The true fun came in trying to figure out which villa was Phil’s. He was certain, in that odd new way that he had, that Phil was close. Clint crept around, climbing trees to get a good look inside. Before too long he made his way to the villa with the most privacy, tucked inconspicuously to the mountain’s edge.

 

He couldn’t exactly say how, the white luxurious fabrics looked similar to the villas he inspected previously, but something about the magical energy made it indisputably Phil’s. Clint climbed his way up the tree (not trusting he had enough magic to extend his wings) and entered through the open porch doors. Clint was only moderately surprised to find that Phil hadn’t placed any defense wards up, allowing him to quite literally walk right in.

 

Phil wasn’t there. But, there was food in the fridge, and bathing toiletries in the open air bathroom that suggested he hadn’t quit the place.

 

Clint shrugged off his bag, laying it beside the white couches and stole fruit from the basket in the kitchen. He was tired, and hungry (for more than food), but that was all overruled by his general giddiness, the kind he usually only got when he was buying fancy new arrows or when Natasha let him do crazy fun stunts.

 

After exploring the villa/treehouse in full, Clint settled for cocking his hip against the door jam of the large open glass veranda doors. Phil would be back soon, Clint had a feeling. Though, he had no idea how. His added sense of perception was a new thing that he was a little too nervous to ask Natasha about.

 

Instead, Clint turned his mind to some of the new knowledge he had learned about dragons. He had lifted a kids book from the library during the last job he did with Nat. It wasn’t hyper detailed, but it explained the basics of the dragon species well enough. It didn’t answer his question about how Phil’s magic might be affecting his own however—he’d have to see about having that conversation with Phil himself.

 

 

-0-

 

Phil trudged toward his villa, mind preoccupied with planning his team’s exit form Urepú. He was staying on, of course, just in case…

 

As he was considering the likelihood that Hawkeye would actually show, he sensed that familiar thread of magic that heated his blood and sizzled his skin.

 

Hawkeye was inside.

 

Hawkeye came.

 

Phil scaled the tree in record time and, at the last second, contained himself from bursting through the door. He opened it normally, calmly and was greeted with the image of a bare-backed Hawkeye, swinging his legs over the ledge of the porch. The villa was all open concept—allowing Phil to see straight through the glass veranda doors to the deck that jutted out of the porch and over the cliff.

 

Hawkeye looked over his shoulder at Phil, a teasing grin looping one side of his mouth up. Phil didn’t say anything, he didn’t need to. It was pretty clear that they both were happy to see each other. He simply discarded his shoes at the door and crossed the Villa toward the mercenary. He dropped behind him and scooted forward to encircle his arms around the man’s trim waist.

 

“Miss me?” Hawkeye tilted his neck to look at Phil’s face.

 

Phil answered with a kiss, tightening his arms around Hawkeye and stroking his tongue in the man’s mouth. One of them moaned and Phil took the opportunity to caress Hawkeye’s throat relishing as it fluttered around him.

 

When they pulled apart they were both panting hard. Phil was well on his way to that single-mindedness that only sex with Hawkeye seemed to promote these days.

 

To calm himself, Phil rested his chin on Hawkeye’s shoulder. “Did the job go well?”

 

Hawkeye shrugged, with the opposite shoulder. “We didn’t die and we got paid. Pretty well, I’d say.”

 

Phil chuckled. “No, you’re definitely not dead.” He rubbed his hands up and down Hawkeye’s chest. “You _are_ low on magic.” Phil extended his gift, getting a more detailed sense of the time and quality of Hawkeye’s last meal. Very quickly he discovered… “You haven’t fed since the last time we…”

 

Hawkeye tensed slightly in Phil’s arms. “I didn’t get a chance to, no.”

 

Phil let the issue drop. Hawkeye didn’t want to make anything of it and Phil would follow his lead. The news did, however, fuel the embers of desire in his belly. The primal dragon in him was pleased to find no other’s magic in the half-incubus but his own.

 

“Let me take care of you.” Phil whispered into Hawkeye’s ear. He nipped gently along the man’s neck, enjoying his taste and smell.

 

“Yeah, why don’t you do that.” Hawkeye’s teasing tone was back and his eyes hooded with arousal.

 

Phil stripped out of his jacket, shirt, and tie. Hawkeye dexterously rid himself of his black cargo pants and combat boots. Phil kissed and sucked along the flesh of Hawkeye’s shoulder, while his hands unhooked his belt and opened his pants.

 

“I’m going to take you out here, baby, right in the open, on this deck.”

 

Hawkeye groaned and hitched forward on his knees and forearms. “Come, on, do it.”

 

Phil pulled off his pants and got up on his knees. The incredible view of Hawkeye’s strong back, framed by the green juts of the mountain stuttered his breath for a few beats. In that moment, the beautiful creature was his to take, to pleasure, to care for. His and his alone.

 

He started by tasting the nape of the man’s neck, sinking his teeth in just enough to feel Hawkeye shiver with pleasure. He moved down the man’s spine, peppering nips and kisses all over his back, making sure his hands were stroking his sides with each impression on his skin.

 

And his skin was glorious. Not as bright and rich as it could be after a feeding—but delicious all the same. An expanse of bronze muscle and smooth surface.

 

“Phil…” Hawkeye gritted out. He shook his head and whined, “come on.”

 

Phil ran both his hands up the mounds of Hawkeye’s ass and squeezed. Hawkeye groaned and tightened, he could feel the muscular form rippling and shaking with need.

 

“Shhhh, love. I’m taking care of you, don’t worry.”

 

Phil used his hands to spread Hawkeye’s cheeks, revealing the slicked prize that he was after. Phil kissed and licked and tasted him there until Hawkeye’s litany of moans turned pleading. He pressed his strong tongue through the tight ring of muscle and that brought him the pleasure of hearing the man in his arms cry out. After slurping the juices one more time, Phil rose behind Hawkeye on his knees.

 

“Ready?”

 

“Fuck you.” Hawkeye panted. There was little true bite there, just want. “I need it, I need you inside.”

 

Phil couldn’t resist such a request. He lined up his cock and gently slid the head in, mindful that he hadn’t stretched Hawkeye at all. Just like the last time, the man went crazy for it, shuddering and hitching his hips backward in a needy attempt to get more. Phil controlled his entry, making sure each inch and ridge were carefully given until he was fully inside. Phil smiled when Hawkeye shouted as the first of the ridging past his prostate.

 

Phil gyrated his hips into Hawkeye and took the man’s gorgeous cock in his hand.

 

“Don’t.” he growled. “Just fuck me!”

 

Phil didn’t listen. He relished in the tortured sounds Hawkeye made as Phil forced him to orgasm with the ridging of his cock stimulating him from the inside and his hand from the outside. Hawkeye shot his load across the wooden planks of the deck floor in mere minutes. He dropped his head and pulled in gulps of air.

 

“There.” Phil started pumping his hips. “That should take the edge off.”

 

“Nnnn.” Hawkeye shook at Phil’s rough stimulation, his body heavy.

 

Phil took a firm hold of Hawkeye’s hips and sought his own release. As he suspected from their other times together, Hawkeye enjoyed a good hard pounding, even one after having orgasamed. There was certainly hissing at the beginning, likely due to the over stimulation, but it seemed to be a turn-on enough that the man’s cock plumped up quickly.

 

“You like it when I take you hard like this? Ream this beautiful ass out?”

 

“Yes, fuck yes!” Hawkeye gasped out, his neck arching.

 

Phil kept up the grueling pace, snatching his hips, pummeling Hawkeye’s ass. Phil came with a punched out shout and watched, raptured as Hawkeye spurted a second time and shuddered repeatedly. Phil was able to catch him and cradle him backward on his lap, saving him from collapsing forward in his own mess.

 

Phil could feel Hawleye rolling on his magic, the man’s hole would periodically tighten and Hawkeye would roll his hips with a sweet whimper. Phil was familiar enough with Hawkeye’s high, that he occupied himself with licking the sweat from the man’s neck, and playing with his rim, where it was stretch wide around his cock.

 

When Hawkeye came around fully, he lolled his head on Phil’s shoulder. “You fuck me so fucking good.” His slurred words made Phil smile and kiss the side of his mouth.

 

He let the man catch his breath, and continued playing with his ass, running his finger through the slick and taking it around the man’s ball sac.

 

“You can add a finger, if you want.” Hawkeye spoke softly, like he didn’t want Phil to hear.

At first, Phil wanted to say that he was just playing, scenting and toying as was his dragon way. But something in the softness of the offer, made Phil pause and consider that maybe Hawkeye was asking him too.

 

“You like being stretched out and filled up, baby?” Phil tugged lightly at Hawkeye’s spread rim.

 

“Mmmm.” Hawkeye rolled his hips and reached out to wrap his arms around Phil’s neck.

 

Phil called up a reflection orb, elongated it slightly, and positioned it to float in front of them. Hawkeye groaned and buried his head into the side of Phil’s neck.

 

“No, sweet thing, you have to watch me spread you wider, watch this beautiful, greedy ass stretch even more.”

 

Phil knew Hawkeye could see out of the corner of his eye and continued his exploration, more turned on now that he had a clearer view.

 

Phil prodded and pulled gently, until he could add a finger beside his still erect cock inside Hawkeye’s tight channel. When he finally slid inside, Hawkeye sucked in a wanton breath. “Shit.” He muttered. “I can take another.”

 

Phil hummed proudly, “Of course you can.” And added another finger, sliding both along Hawkeye’s rim.

 

He slid his fingers in and out, occasionally scissoring them just to hear Hawkeye whimper and shake.

 

“Think you can come for me again?” Phil was surprised by the gravel in his voice—evidence that his dragon tendencies were called upon in a stronger way with Hawkeye.

 

Hawkeye didn’t answer. He just rolled his hips, grinding his prostate against Phil’s cock, taking exactly what he needed.

 

“Touch yourself.” Phil commanded. And he got to watch, slightly wide eyed, as Hawkeye fisted his own cock with Phil’s ridged pole and two fingers stretching him, owning him. Phil became raptured with the Hawkeye’s parted lips, hazy eyes, dexterous fingers.

 

The feeling of Hawkeye’s fluttering channel combined with the image before him, pushed Phil to his second orgasm. His energy set off Hawkeye’s own.

 

“Fuck!” Hawkeye whined and shuddered, sounding almost surprised by Phil’s orgasmic energy. As the energy entered him, his own answering climax spurted over his lower abs.

Phil probably should have ended it there. He had 9 days to take, taste, and fuck Hawkeye senseless. But something inside him cracked just enough and he found himself dragging Hawkeye inside and fucking him two more times before the night was through. Hawkeye encouraged him on, of course. His high pitched whines and deep hollow groans seared into Phil’s mind. Even at the end, when he kept chanting—“Phil its too much, please, please please” Phil didn’t ease off and somehow he knew Hawkeye didn’t really _really_ want him to. There was further evidence of that when Phil finally pulled out and Hawkeye’s hole literally gushed with their combine fluids. Hawkeye just closed his eyes and shuddered into Phil’s neck. Phil just catalogued every breath-taking detail of Hawkeye’s red-rimmed hole, gaping and dripping wet.

 

When he cast a cleaning spell for the sheets and wiped down Hawkeye’s mostly senseless body and carded his fingers through Hawkeye’s (now) golden blonde hair—Phil knew in his heart of hearts that after the 9 days were finished he had to let Hawkeye go for good. His dragon tendencies flared out, heating the villa unnaturally at the mere thought. And that was sign enough too. Phil was slowly claiming Hawkeye and it would destroy them both if Phil didn’t put an end to it soon. Hawkeyes was a young, gorgeous, highly-skilled part _incubus_. A naturally poly-amorous creature. Phil could never expect him to warm up to the idea (let alone accept) a binding claim to a possessive, controlling dragon. Then there was their jobs, and the logictics of their lives…

 

No.

 

Phil pulled Hawkeye to his chest, breathed in his scent, wrapped them both around a thin blanket and ignored the way his chest tightened everywhere.

 

-O-

 

 

Clint woke up to find the Urepú sun shedding rich yellow light across the middle of the room. When was the last time he had slept in so late? Well rested, well fed, and apparently feeling safe, Clint stretched with the lethargic happiness of a man with nothing on his agenda. He rolled out of the bed to track down the smell of cooking coming from the open kitchen/dinning/ porch area.

 

"You hungry?" Phil didn't turn to look at him, just kept his bare back turned to whatever was sizzling in the pan in front of him. Tempted by the display of so much yummy bare flesh--Clint rubbed his face against the back of Phil's neck and mouthed at his shoulder.

 

"What is it?" Clint mumbled against Phil's skin.

 

"Its a breakfast dish from the highlands of Urepú --it has Gumcao in it but it has a citrus flavor. Want to try?"

 

Clint peaked over Phil's shoulder. He wasn't really one for Gumcao, but he had to admit whatever mixture Phil had prepared looked more than appetizing. Plus, Clint wasn't fussy. "Yeah it looks good."

 

Phil plated for both of them, gesturing with his head for Clint to follow him out to the deck. They ate in silence for a few minutes, enjoying the afternoon view, lounged back in comfortable chairs. After a while Phil asked, "How are you feeling?"

 

Clint swallowed his food and shoveled in another bite. It was damn good. "Fine, why?"

 

Phil's eyebrows scrunched. "We certainly didn't take it easy last night." He cleared his throat. "I thought you may have overfed."

 

"Nope. Feel great-- in fact..." Clint let his eyes trace Phil's half clothed body, letting his thoughts display clearly on his face. Satisfied with physical food, Clint was working up an appetite of the magical variety.

 

"Huh." Phil's clinical look should have soured the mood but it was a bit more of a turn on then it had the right to be.

 

Clint put his plate aside--having devoured its contents and crawled over to where Phil sat. In the semi-reclined porch chair, Clint could position himself perfectly between Phil's legs. Phil watched him, a bit raptured-looking and a bit amazed as Clint tugged down his sleeping shorts and slurped around his cock. Phil was probably right, it was weird that he wasn’t getting full. But he was turned on too much to worry about. Something to ask Natasha about later.

 

Clint hummed to himself--Phil's taste seemed to only grow more intoxicating as their flings went on. Clint felt his magic perk, fizzling along his skin and delighting in the contact with the dragon. It felt good to feel him in his mouth, down his throat. The ridges added another element, bumping along the roof of his mouth. Clint pulled back to suckle the head, having every intention of chasing some traces of pre-come. He was surprised when Phil grabbed his hair and pulled him off and up.

 

The dragon growled as their lips crashed together. Suddenly, all Clint could focus on were the raging flames of Phil's magic, licking his skin, his belly, causing his heart to pump furiously. Hotter and hotter still, Clint felt his skin flush and heat… he whined needing more, needing relief.

 

"I've got you." Phil's ragged breath blew across Clint's face as Phil positioned him better on his lap. Phil attacked Clint's neck and Clint tipped his head back so that Phil could do so more easily. The sinking teeth and the following deep suck, set Clint higher and did nothing to sooth the burning magic inside him.

 

"Phil!"

 

Seconds later, Clint felt the welcome stretch of Phil's cock breaching him, he shivered as ridge by ridge Phil speared him open. He was so turned on, he was probably gushing wet. He pulled up the image from the afternoon before, his fluids dribbling down Phil's shaft and over his hand.

 

"You should see your face when I get my cock in you, especially when you're this tight." Phil sounded like he was muttering to himself, his hands restlessly squeezing Clint's ass, stroking his sides, grabbing his hips. "Come on baby, take what you need."

 

Clint's eyes hooded and he set his hips into a demanding rhythm, pumping Phil's cock with his ass, rubbing his prostate so sweetly.

 

"That's it." Phil encouraged and rolled Clint's balls in his hand, and stroked his straining cock.

 

"Nnnnn" Clint protested, too overcome by stimulation to complain coherently.

 

Phil worked him harder and Clint came mere seconds before Phil’s orgasmic energy filled him, cooled the heat on his skin, and sent him into a floating high unlike any other.

 

When he came around, he felt loose and stupid happy. Turning in Phil’s arms he only just caught the sad expression that the man chased away. Hawkeye touched his fingers to Phil’s mouth.

 

“What’s wrong?”

 

Phil didn’t say, just kissed him. Clint knew (in that new and now very heightened way) that Phil was keeping something from him. But Clint was too inexperienced with the man to go about prying it out. His natural tendency with Natasha was to nag and nag until she growled and gave it up. Something inside Clint, some little voice, told him he didn’t want to know what had Phil’s eyes warm and longing and sad.

 

So, he allowed himself to be distracted by Phil offering to hike the mountain with him and tempting him with the promise of “one of the most beautiful waterfalls in the seven kingdoms”. He told that little voice to come back later when Clint wasn’t so fucking high on Phil, and the jungle, and living.

 

When they returned, camaraderie and sexual tension floated between them, Phil made them dinner and fucked him in the shower and wrapped him in his arms when they went to bed.

 

The next day, they went into town at the base of the mountain. They explored the colorful markets and tried delicious street food. A lot of the local products and art were made with the wood and seeds from the jungle. Clint looked at a few things, some pretty arrows in particular, but either didn’t want to spend the funds or didn’t have enough incentive to get them. When they returned, Phil prepared them dinner again and with the sweetest, shyest smile asked if he could see Clint’s wings one more time.

 

Clint couldn’t help but show off first. He jumped off the edge of the porch and let himself fall a ways toward the water below before he shifted and his wings took him higher. He did some pretty tricks, loving Phil’s eyes on him. When he got that all out of his system, he settled on the couch and opened his wings for Phil.

 

Clint used all the will he had vested in him, to not get hard while Phil inspected his wings. His gentle prodding and stroking seemed so intimate, Phil’s hums and haws were low-level arousing. To distract himself, Clint struck up conversation.

 

"I've been reading about dragons."

 

Phil's cataloguing of his feathers didn't falter, "And what have you learned?"

 

Clint shrugged a shoulder "Basic sort of stuff."

 

Phil huffed an amused breath, "Like?"

 

Clint pulled up the children’s book in his mind. He decided to start with the safest fun fact, not wanting to sound too stupid. "You get your colors based on the cave where the egg is laid and warmed."

 

"That's right." Phil confirmed "My family is from Coultonburg--the primary mineral there is coal, which is why my scales are black. The dragons from this region are green because of the jungle habitat. I imagine it is a protective feature of our biology so that we blend with the habitat. Of course, most dragons do a fair amount of traveling and are rarely in our 3rd or 4th forms. "

 

Enjoying the lecturing tilt to his voice, Clint asked, “What other colors are there?”

 

Clint could hear Phil’s smile. "Shades of red come out of Eibjørg because of the volcanic activity in that region. In Reinia, because its mostly desert ,there's brown and sand colored dragons. Let's see, blues are associated with glacier caves and under water caves of Nen Negh”

 

Joking, Clint asked, "Any purple dragons?"

 

Phil's hands stopped, midway digging into his shoulders. Clint hadn't expected an actual answer, he wet his lips to Phil as much, but the man spoke before he could. "There used to be. They were rare. Purple dragons were laid and hatched in caves of Moradoçlia, an ancient mineral that had a variety of magical powers. The stones produced by Moradoçlia were most coveted for their ability to act as a conduit for a creature's magic. Purple Dragons or Moradei, had scales that could do the same thing.”

 

Clint picked at the lint of the couch beneath them, “What happened to them?” He kind of knew, had heard here and there, but Phil’s information was sure to be the most accurate. He was likely alive, after all.

 

“Moradoçlia were harvested until all of the kingdoms were barren and then when the supply went dry, Moradei dragons were hunted for their scales. The last purple dragon died in the Great Battle several hundred years ago." Phil released a shuddering breath, the air licking along Clint’s feathers.

 

"That's sad." Clint pulled his knees to his chest and rested his cheek against the tops. He didn't really think anything of his purple wings in conjunction with Phil's historical recounting. He wasn't related to dragons and his wings certainly did not conduct magic. For some reason, however, his heart felt heavy with the thought that something so beautiful would never be again. Wanting to venture into lighter topics and genuinely curious, Clint felt comfortable enough to ask a question, kind of. "I haven't gotton to the bit about your forms."

 

Phil moved his hands to Clint's spine, rubbing his shoulders and the seam of his wings. Clint arched his back in pleasure. It'd been so long since he'd had something like this with a lover. Maybe he never had.

 

"A dragon's first form is the one you've seen me in most often, humaniod. The second form looks a bit like your partial shift. There are wings, smaller than full sized, some scaling along the arms, a slight shift in facial structure. A tail. But the body is still mostly humaniod. Third shift is almost full reptile but on a smaller scale. And the fourth form is full dragon, like the ones depicted in children’s books."

 

Clint was intrigued enough by the information that he let his shift fall, wings contracting back and he turned to face Phil. "Are we going to play I showed you mine, you show me yours?" Clint waggled his eyebows. Not quite getting the reaction he had hoped for, Phil twisted his mouth and looked away. Taken a back, Clint reached out his hand, grasping Phil's forearm where it rested in his lap. "Hey, I'm joking."

 

When Phil's eyes returned to his, there was a grave and sorta sad gleam to them. He took Clint's hand in his own and locked their fingers together loosely. "With each shift, other dragon features become more, lets say, dominant. Dragons are inherently possessive, coveting creatures. While we maintain our same minds, those drives become harder to fight with each shift to our true form.”

 

Clint listened quietly. He was getting enough that Phil thought it would be dangerous for him to see him shift, he wasn't totally clear on why.

 

He let Phil press on, but for a moment Clint was distracted by that sad gleam. It returned stronger than before and Clint heard that little voice inside himself wanting to get its time.

 

"In this case, it would become very difficult for me to stop myself from claiming you, even if I were just in even my second form."

 

Ah.

 

Phil's disclosure should have had Clint's back straightening and gut turning with anxiety. He should have shook with repulsion. Incubi were naturally poly-amorous creatures, being claimed by a creature that would likely demand monogamy went against some of his basic natural impulses. While not quite bonding, the magical connection of a claiming was still forceful, demanding compliance.

 

And yet, all Clint felt was longing. He wanted to be the type of creature, the type of man that Phil could claim or would want to claim. A part of him, a surprisingly large part, felt irrationally jealous of the future creature that got to be claimed by Phil . But Phil didn't want that with Clint hence why he was being careful not to shift around him. There was another voice, one Clint was all too familiar with that shook its head. _Not good enough, never good enough._

 

Finding a home in humor, as was his way, Clint looped his mouth in a flirty grin that didn’t reach his eyes. "That's too bad, I've never seen dragon wings before. It doesn't seem fair that you've seen mine and I haven't seen yours." He sighed dramatically and adopted a suggestive tone. "Guess you'll have to even the field some." He opened his legs and looked up at Phil through his eyelashes.

 

The sad gleam was still there, but there was a fondness too. He quirked his lips and grabbed a hold of Clint’s pants. Before long, Phil was fingering Clint’s prostate and swallowing down his cock. The way Phil’s tongue could loop around Clint’s cock was enough to silence the sad and mean voices inside him for the rest of the night.

 

-O-

 

Clint watched out of the corner of his eye as Phil spoke on the secured communication orb. The man kept pinching the bridge of his nose and looking up to the tree house rafters. While the whole display was downright adorable, it was also concerning. Phil had never indicated that he was the nervous type. Quite the opposite actually.

 

And besides, the call had interrupted their post-swim, post-fuck cuddle time. It reminded Clint, all too concretely, that in a few days they were both going separate ways. And they hadn’t talked about when or if they were going to plan to see each other again. That little voice was getting stronger. Sometimes Clint would do something, a trick to show off, or an off-handed comment and Phil would smile adoringly at him and then look away sad and longing.

 

“Sorry about that.” Phil huffed as he returned to his seat on the couch.

 

“Everything okay?” Clint’s hand instinctively went to Phil’s shoulder and started on some serious knots.

 

Phil groaned just a little and leaned into the touch. “It’s the Audrey case. We’ve just confirmed that Hydra has been collecting energy conducting artifacts for, possibly the last ten years. We hadn’t connected the dots until today.”

 

Something told Clint that not seeing the pattern sooner was the thing that was really eating Phil up.

 

“Do you think you know the end game?” Clint smiled when Phil’s eyes shut in pleasure as he got deep on the knot he was working on.

 

Phil opened his eyes and assessed him. It didn’t hurt, or feel like a lack of trust. It was important to be precautionary and it was clear that Phil was deciding how much information to share with Clint and to what end. Clint waited him out.

 

“We think they are trying to raise an ancient demon.”

 

“To ensure general havoc and destruction of genocidal proportions?”

 

Phil titled his head against the back of the couch, his eyes warming a touch “Exactly.”

 

Clint nodded. He didn’t know a lot about supernatural history, having never been formally educated. But he did know that there were always hushed whispers and ever present memories of the days when warring factions would raise demons to unleash on their opposition.

 

Phil pressed on, “What’s most concerning is that they might actually have what it takes to do it. It feels like we’re too many steps behind on this one.”

 

Clint stayed quiet, letting his hands work over Phil’s tense muscles, deliberating. He didn’t want to offer something he couldn’t give. After a few moments he said, “I’ll keep my ear to the ground and let you know of anything I come across.”

 

Phil reached up and took Clint’s hand in his own. He smoothed his thumb over the knuckles. “You don’t have to do that.”

 

Clint quirked his lips. “I know that.”

 

Phil breathed out and settled back down, releasing Clint’s hand. “Thank you.”

 

“So, which demon do you think they’ll go for? Doom? Ultronion?” Clint was half-joking, trying to lighten the mood.

 

“Knowing Hydra” Phil played along “They’d go for Loki.”

 

Clint laughed. “Are there enough energy conducting artifacts across the seven kingdoms for that to even be possible?” Loki was considered one of, if not the most powerful demon to ever have been resurrected. The one and only time was the last Great War, at least that was what Clint had picked up along the way.

Phil stopped, considering. “Possibly.”

 

“Seriously?” Clint’s eyebrows rose. “How’d they do it last time?”

 

Phil’s eyes sobered. “They used the last Moradei,.”

 

Oh. “Well lucky you, those don’t exist anymore.”

 

Something turned in Phil’s expression. His eyes scanned over Clint like he was a different person, a stranger. He sobered quickly though and blinked whatever thoughts he had away. “No, they don’t exist anymore.”

 

Clint took the opportunity to re-direct their activities to their previous course, before the communicator orb so rudely interrupted them. He let his hands glide more suggestively over Phil’s shoulders.

 

Phil shifted, looping his arm around Clint’s waist and swinging him over his lap. Clint ground against the hardness in Phil’s loose pants, letting him feel the want and the dampness between his cheeks.

 

They kissed lazily, Phil palming his ass, occasionally dipping his finger along his crack.

 

“How does the beautiful Hawkeye want it this evening?”

 

Clint’s eyebrows rose, first, because Phil’s expression was so soft despite the flickers of arousal in his eyes. And second, because Phil still didn’t know Clint’s real name. He knew the way Clint tasted, how he looked and sounded before he was about to come, how far he could see and shoot before his accuracy was compromised, that he was sold to the circus at 9 branded and later abused, that his favorite color was purple and that for one whole year he was utterly obsessed with Hidaldan pies. He knew all those things and yet…

 

“What is it, precious?” Phil’s eyes turned concerned, hands stilling.

 

Clint leaned down and brushed his lips against Phil’s ear. “It’s Clint.”

 

He didn’t pull back to see Phil’s expression. It felt too much like a confession to be able to handle Phil’s reaction and his own. All he felt was the tightening of Phil’s arms around him and the light “oh” as he released his breath.

 

“Alright then, Clint, how do you want it tonight?”

 

Clint kept his face hidden, in the safe space of Phil’s neck and shoulder. All he could manage was, “Like this.”

 

Clint wasn’t sure if that was enough direction. Phil was smart though, quick witted and observant. He took the direction seamlessly and scooped Clint up and walked them both to the bed. He laid Clint down and slowly tasted every inch of his body. He touched him sweetly, slowly, gently. He called him beautiful and precious and stunning. He sucked and nipped and licked and whispered ancient words across his skin.

 

When he sunk into Clint, what felt like hours later, it was more like stroking than thrusting.

 

By then end, when they were both shaking with their release, kissing each other like they wanted to crawl inside each other’s mouths, Clint realized that Phil had made love to him, like Clint had asked.

 

-O-

 

They didn’t really talk about it. But by the tenth day, Clint had given that little voice inside himself a good listening to. He knew (in that now familiar but still new way) that Phil was going to say goodbye to him, to whatever they had in the treehouse villa in Urepù.

 

Phil made love to him one last time, the night before his portal out of the city and Clint bit into Phil’s skin, hard enough that the mark remained until they both fell asleep. In the morning it was healed over. Like it hadn’t been there at all.

 

Clint watched as Phil put on his suit, something he hadn’t worn since that first day, and became Agent Phillip Coulson again.

 

Clint was going to leave first, insisted on it. They were so close to the end that Clint was struggling with his façade.

 

“I have something for you.” Clint looked up from tying his laces to see Phil holding a rectangular object wrapped in cream fabric. “Don’t look at it until you’re home.” Clint hoped he wasn’t imagining the emotion in Phil’s voice.

 

“Thanks.” Clint took it, noticed it was likely made of wood and packed it safely in his knapsack. When he slung the pack over his shoulder and stood up, he knew he couldn’t delay any longer. “Good luck with the case. I’ll let you know if I hear anything.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

Clint stepped forward in time with Phil and they shared one last press of lips. Greedy as ever, Clint opened his mouth in request, and Phil obliged, sliding his tongue down Clint’s throat.

 

“Keep yourself safe.” Phil asked, demanded? When they pulled apart.

 

“You too.”

 

Clint shimmied down the tree and marched through the jungle and didn’t look back at Phil because his eyes were watering too bad for him to be able to see anyway. He stopped crying by the time he was en route home but couldn’t pull it together enough to keep Natasha from knowing absolutely everything with one look at him.

 

She wasn’t cruel about it. Just held him and hushed him and said soothing things. When she was showering, Clint pulled out the cream cloth and unfolded it. Inside was a long intricately carved wooden box. Clint thought it would kind of be perfect to pack arrows in when he traveled.

 

Of course, inside were the set of arrows Clint had looked at in the market. The wood they were made of was at once sturdy enough to shoot with, but light enough to carry for long periods of time. The feathers were from fallen Amoralas, which helped the arrow fly true.

 

Natasha appeared behind him, peering over her shoulder. She reached forward and traced the ancient runes around the box and along the inside cover. Her expression unreadable.

 

“What?”

 

She ignored his true question, answering another one entirely. “You should always keep at least one arrow in this box.” At Clint’s quirked eyebrow she said, “Take five out for me.”

 

Clint did, reaching down to take a handful, as he turned them over for her inspection she pointed her eyes toward the box and he followed her gaze. He sucked in a breath. It looked like none had been removed at all.

 

“It is self-replenishing, as long as you leave one in the box. Very practical gift. And expensive.”

 

Clint stared down in amazement. “The arrows were literally just sitting out on this merchant’s table. I thought they were pricey but not that pricy now that I see what they do.”

 

“It is not the arrows, little bird.” Nat corrected. “The magic is in the box. It will replicate whatever it holds, which is why you always have to leave one inside. These are old and rare, especially in this size. The arrows are just what he chose to put in it. They cannot compare to the worth of the box.”

 

“I…I don’t…”

 

“Dragons don’t give up their possessions lightly, little bird.” And she left it at that. With so much unspoken and so much insinuated. Maybe the tightening of his chest could be heard by them both.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo.... First, so sorry this chapter took this long to post. It was a bit of a monster to write and edit. Thank you for hanging in there!
> 
> Second, rest assured that some pieces of information that I introduced here will pop up again and probably make more sense than it did here!
> 
> Third, THANK YOU FOR BEING AWESOME READERS. I will have answers to your reviews, I promise!


	5. Naduss to SHIELD

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phil gets Clint and the Widow to work for SHIELD...much angst and ridiculous Jasper Sitwell involvement.

Phillip lasted three months before he succumbed to the temptation of tracking down Clint's original identity. He called it recon, which was utter bullshit because he had absolutely no intention of putting the information in Clint's file. That was a give away if anything. He had contained himself before, after the first time they met, wanting to give the man some moral privacy. But this time was different.

 

Not knowing when and if he would ever see Clint again had him itching for something to make Clint his. With each passing week, he could feel his connection to Clint slipping, his magic getting replaced by each of the archer’s feedings. Information had been a coping tool for Phillip in the past. Knowing things about artifacts, cultures, people had, in a way, made them Phillip’s. Knowing private information fed his possessive urge. If Clint were his, which he absolutely _wasn't_ , Phillip would have insisted on knowing everything about him, every single thing.

 

With Clint's first name, he managed to track his original slave registration records in under 20 minutes. Another hour later, he'd pulled Clint's birth certificate, supernatural registration number, and that of his brother and parents. The pieces came together easily from there.

 

Clint was born Clinton Francis Barton, registered as a full hawk shifter per the supernatural affiliations of his mother and father and eldest brother. At 9, however, when he and his brother Barney were registered as slaves to Carson's Traveling Circus, he was listed as partial hawk shifter/ unidentified supernatural. Likely because he had only partially shifted at that point but hadn't presented as an incubus just yet.

 

After that, it was easy to pull records, police reports, custody reports, insurance claims by Carson for “lost assets” when Clint presumably bailed the circus and his brother was "terminated". Shortly there after, Clinton Francis Barton as a functioning identity in Waoia went cold. It wasn't for another 10 years that his stage name, Hawkeye, resurfaced as an up and coming mercenary.

 

There were pictures with the Slave Registration Records--cataloguing the merchandise. Phillip was at once repulsed and sickly giddy to have found them. Because these too were his. And they were old enough and obscure enough that Phillip could pretend they were his and his alone.

 

Phillip’s obsession continued through the next three months.

 

After Phillip had found all of Clint’s official records, there was a two week period during which he was completely at a loss on how to channel his obsession. His team was still working on the Audrey case—diligently trying to stay ahead of Hydra’s next heist while simultaneously trying to track down previous heists and sales that could have links to them.

 

While reviewing a junior agent’s grunt work, the idea occurred to him. He had all the baby agents sifting through 20 years of unsolved reports filed by local police agencies and SHIELD’s archives searching for anything that might have a Hydra signature. One of the reports that the junior agent pulled did not have anything to do with Hydra, but did have Hawkeye’s work written all over it.

 

That was how Phillip started meticulously documenting Clint’s previous jobs.

 

Phillip limited himself to 1 hour after work or before. He covered his tracks through the SHIELD databases because even his security clearance would raise eyebrows. He would carefully sift through reports until he found one that suggested Hawkeye’s handiwork and then would track down every snippet of information related to the job that he could possibly piece together. Some days he found a lead, and it would keep him excited and afloat for maybe a week or two. Once that job was documented, however, he had to go back to sifting through reports until he found another. It was draining. But he couldn’t bring himself to stop.

 

By the 9th month, Phillip had 12 of Hawkeye’s jobs meticulously documented and timelined in chronological order. That was also when he knew he had to tell Fury. Though he wasn’t going to tell him in any official sense, he needed his best friend to know how far down the hole he had fallen.

 

-O-

 

“Finally.” Fury said, leaning back in his chair and swigging from the lip of his bottle. “You’ve been creeping and moping since Urepu. Not to mention sneaking around my databases.”

 

Phillip frowned. He had covered his tracks.

 

“You’re my best friend.” Fury offered by way of explanation. “I watch you closer than anybody.”

 

Phillip glared but couldn’t bring any bite to it because he already felt lighter, having the weight that was Hawkeye sit between them as opposed to over him.

 

“So this kid, why’s he so special?”

 

Phillip narrowed his eyes. “I don’t have time to explain the complexities of attraction, claims, and bonds to someone who—“

 

“I meant,” Fury interrupted “What makes him unique? You don’t obsess over anything, attraction or not, that isn’t special.”

 

“There are a lot of things that are special about him.” Phillip defended, because he believed it.

 

“What’s the one you want to tell me about the least?” Phillip weighed the options of punching that smirk off his old friend’s face. Wouldn’t be the first time.

 

Phillip wanted to say Clint’s aim, or his affiliation with the Black Widow, or his uncanny genius for in-the moment strategy. But none of that was true and him and Fury were off off _off_ the record.

 

“His wings are purple.” He said simply.

 

Fury’s chair popped back to the floor, his one eye burning into Phillip’s. “Fuck.”

 

“Yeah.” Phillip shouldn’t but he had to add so there was no room for error. “They are typically deep purple, almost black. When he feeds, they lighten in color.”

 

Phillip and Fury wrapped it up from there. Fury picked up the tab and with a hard look said, “We’re off the record right now, but you know at some point you’ll have to bring him in. It isn’t safe for him out there, especially now.”

 

“It might not be anything.” Phillip twisted his mouth, the uncertainty clear to his own ears.

 

Fury’s look never waivered. They had known each other too long, seen too much, to deny things like this.

 

-O-

 

On the eleventh month, Phillip’s communication orb turned on and Clint’s pressured voice came through.

 

“Phil, fuck!” Phillip heard a blast burst over the link and his heart pounded through his chest. “I need to call in that favor, Nat and I are a little—“ Clint was interrupted by the sound of an energy ball making contact from somewhere behind him. “Naduss the northern side, make it quick if you can. We’re--” a screech and then an electrical orb. “in a tight spot you could say.” His attempt at humor was marred by the tightness in his tone.

 

Before Phillip could say anything, the link went dead. Phillip ignored his shaking hands. Naduss, the northern side. Naduss, the northern side.

 

Phillip breathed out. He knew at least one likely player in that region. He held onto that tightly.

 

Keeping his head in a crisis was a major part of his job. He didn’t panic, didn’t rush to the portal in a fit. He made several calls on his way to the portal platform while simultaneously sketching rough contingency plans in his mind. Maria was surprised by his requests, but didn’t push. She had worked with Phillip enough to know his ‘don’t ask questions’ tone.

 

Phillip also made a call to Fury. On his private, private, real fucking _private_ line.

 

“I’m headed to Jasper’s.” Phillip said almost at the portal platform.

 

“Do I even want to know?” Fury sounded more exasperated than anything else.

 

“I might have a shot at bringing them in.” Phillip knew he didn’t have to explain more than that.

 

There was an uncharacteristic pause. “Go get’em cheese. Don’t get killed and don’t promise that scoundrel Sitwell anything on my behalf.”

 

The mage on duty at the portal platform was a weathered veteran of SHIELD. He didn’t bat a single eyelash at Phillip’s request to be portaled, in the middle of the day in the middle of the week, to SHIELD’s decoy base. From there Phil could cast to Naduss, having been to his destination a few times before.

 

He breathed in and out again. Phillip was going to bring them in. Alive.

 

-o-

 

Stepping into Jasper’s lobby always came with the unexpected.

 

This time was no different.

 

Phillip was greeted by a surprised, perplexed, suspicious and then finally jolly Jasper Sitwell perched on… a throne? Wearing a crown that was most certainly stolen from the National Daenia Museum. He was surrounded by upwards of 25 armed supernaturals of varying magical capacity tense and ready to try and kill him per Jasper’s orders. Phillip certainly couldn’t fight his way out of the great room. He struck that contingency plan off his list.

 

Allowing himself the briefest scan, Phillip noted that the Black Widow and Clint were in separate spelled cages in the corner of the room, suspended approximately 6 feet off the ground. The Widow was highly alert and aware but severely injured, if the deep auburn of her hair was any tell. Clint was in out of consciousness and bloody all over. But they both were _there_. Phillip was right. He also ignored them completely and trained his affect into the bland mask he had perfected for exactly these situations.

 

“Coulson? To what do I owe this most high honor?” Jasper’s grin split his face, ever excited for intrigue.

 

“I’ve come to pick up a couple of my agents, you haven’t seen them have you?”

 

As expected, Jasper’s eyes narrowed, his calculating brain sifting through all the scenarios that would have Phillip’s sentence making sense to him. Upon landing on one, his eyes widened and took on a speculative glint.

 

“Do you mean to tell me that the Black Widow and her little apprentice are Agents of SHIELD now?” Jasper cocked his head disbelieving. “Because I find that very hard to believe.”

 

Phillip relaxed into the familiar dance of who’s the better bluffer that Jasper was all too good at. The fellow dragon had worked for SHIELD, twice, and betrayed the agency both times. Fury was still sore about the last time.

 

Phillip never hated Jasper for the betrayal. He always saw Jasper for what he was, always felt it. Jasper, like any other dragon, collected things. He collected, traded, and withheld _information_. He always hated being on one side of the fence. Why limit yourself when straddling both sides meant you were more likely to hold all the cards, know all the players, and be a part of all the plays? Even now, ostracized from SHIELD’S good graces, he was gaining confidential information that Phillip would have preferred to keep from the man for as long as possible.

 

“Whether you believe it or not is not my concern. What do you want for them?”

Jasper’s mouth cocked to the side and his eyes flicked over to the Black Widow. “I think you’re lying.”

 

Phillip made a point of sighing, exasperated like Clint wasn’t _bleeding out_. “Jasper, I’d love to settle this before dinner, I have other places to be.”

 

Jasper shifted back in his chair, and lounged out his body. “Now, Now Coulson don’t get all uptight and business-y with me, you haven’t come to visit in over a year. We have so much to catch up on. How’s the lovely Maria? Still hate my guts? I did apologize two decades ago.”

 

“Maria still hates you as does May and Fury. But I can make Maria come visit one time for one hour if you let us portal out of here unmolested.”

 

Jasper pouted and flicked an imaginary something from under his fingernails. “You’re no fun Coulson.”

 

“Good. I wasn’t trying to be.”

 

Jasper’s mouth quirked. “Let’s say, for a moment, that the Widow and the shifter _are_ your agents. What was the objective of their mission?”

 

Phillip kept his face absolutely expressionless. He had to tread carefully because he knew absolutely nothing about why the fuck Clint and the Black Widow were here. Certainly not enough to spin a convincing lie. “That’s classified.”

 

“I’m sure.” Jasper scoffed. “So let’s see. _If_ they are your agents, you definitely weren’t their handler because you are so, _so_ beyond fucking up this badly. But then, what could their mission have been? Seeing as how I was the one that commissioned them?”

 

Phillip didn’t know for sure if it was a trap. He suspected it wasn’t, mostly because it made the most sense. The Widow and Hawkeye had never been captured before. And it was exactly Jasper’s style to kidnap with so much flair. He had probably put out the contract for the mercenaries and set them up.

 

Phillip didn’t respond, he had his story now and he was going to play his cards carefully to ensure that Jasper believed him

 

Phillip did have one advantage. He knew Jasper better than Jasper knew him. Jasper loved to be the one to figure it out, to put all the pieces together and say _ha_. Usually he was incredibly good at it. But Phillip was better.

 

Jasper watched Phillip closely, his wheels turning. “But there is the issue with how you would have known to come here, at this very moment.” Jasper tapped his chin. “Curious.” He side eyed Phillip, mind working. After a few moments he raised his voice in a sing-song tone yelled, “SKYE!”

 

In seconds, Phillip heard the shuffling steps and felt the approaching magic of a pixie. Her magic was surprisingly strong for her age. Phillip could also sense that she specialized in electronic wards. Great.

 

“What dickhead?” Her glare would rival Maria’s. Phillip liked her instantly. He didn’t like the look of a laptop slung over one shoulder.

 

Jasper ignored her and turned to Phillip. “Do you see how she disrespects me? She’s lucky she’s almost as good as Stark.” Focusing back on her, he hardened his voice. “Get me into the SHIELD database, and tell me if these two little shits are actually SHIELD agents.”

 

When Jasper had defected the second time, he left believing that he could always hack his way back into the database. Of course, Fury had created a whole alternate one that he kept highly classified information on and which only Phillip and other level 10 agents had access to. Fury kept the original database running to weed out double agents and give people like Jasper bait when SHIELD wanted to.

 

Phillip kept his face neutral if not a bit irritated. But he had banked on this, had gotten Maria to set up agent profiles with Clint and the Widow and told her to back-date them to the Balakai mission. Phillip only hoped Maria’s work was tight enough to pass inspection.

 

Jasper kept up the small talk, regaling in Phillip’s deadpanned responses. He pendulumed from jabbing for information to reminiscing about good ole times.

 

“I never got why Maria doesn’t come to visit.” Jasper said as he handed Phillip a glass of T’cal.

 

“Betraying her and your mutual employer as well as attempting to blow her up as well as the rest of her team, sometimes leaves a sour taste in people’s mouths.”

 

Jasper chuckled. “But I wasn’t actually trying to _kill_ you.”

 

“It’s the principle.” Phillip offered by way of explanation. It was hard to have this conversation with Jasper. On the one hand, Jasper had done morally repugnant things far worthier of Maria’s silent treatment. Yet on the other hand, when it seemed to really count, Jasper’s moral compass rung true. He had tipped SHIELD off on a number of nasty occurrences, sometimes addressing issues in his own way that served SHIELD’s broader interests. In many ways he was a good person. But in others he absolutely wasn’t.

 

Finally, the pixie, Skye, cleared her throat. Phillip snapped his eyes to her and caught the exact moment when she realized that the profiles were a thin façade. She looked directly at him, Jasper’s yammering drowning to back noise, and Phillip knew he’d owe her something. He was perfectly fine with that. Hopefully she’d want a job, get out from under Jasper’s occasionally maniacal and morally dubious ways.

 

“So, weirdo, they’re in there.” Skye flipped her laptop around, revealing the two agent profiles with exceptional pictures. Phillip would have to ask May about that later.

 

Jasper’s relatively hyper mood focused in an instant. His eyes hardened and the grip around his glass tightened. He hated this part—the looking foolish bit. Phillip waited him out. Waited for him to spin the story.

 

“So. They are in the system. But still taking mercenary contracts without a handler.” And there, Jaspers eyes turned conspiratory again and Phillip let himself blink a little more naturally. “Phillip J Coulson” He squealed. “Did you actually commission double agents? My Solia, I’m so proud of you!” Jasper actually clapped his hands with glee.

 

Phillip made a point of looking at his watch. “Jasper—”

 

“Wait, let me bask in it please.” He lounged back on his throne, crown still miraculously secured. “So you somehow contract these two—I’d truly like to know how by the way—“

 

“Still classified.”

 

“Yes, yes, don’t interrupt. And then instead of bringing them in properly, you let them continue on the market as free-range mercenaries. Absolutely genius. They’ve been taking contracts from all the major players in the underworld.”

 

A part of Phillip regretted that he had to take it in this direction. The Widow and Hawkeye would have essentially no choice but to actually work for SHIELD. No one would give them contracts now that the lie had spun and it would be ridiculous for them to continue working without SHIELD’s protection.

 

“Jasper, your terms?”

 

“Mmmm, yes, my favorite part.” Jasper hummed, rubbing his hands together excitedly. He began rattling off ridiculous things, one more impossible than the next. It became clear in a matter of minutes that Jasper wanted Phillip to use one of his two favors. Surely the exorbitant debt weighed on him.

 

“You want me to name you King of Coultenburg, really?”

 

“Don’t look at me like that, I’d just have to marry your sister. My mother would be so proud.”

 

Phillip rolled his eyes. “Fine. Jasper Sitwell, please consider this me calling in one of my favors. I would like to take The Black Widow and Hawkeye with me out of this Solia forsaken cave and I’d like to get back to the report I was nearly finishing before you captured them and created a clusterfuck of work at HQ.”

 

Jasper tipped his head back and laughed deeply. Phillip averted his eyes, choosing to assess the Skye character instead. He found that she was assessing him as thoroughly. And as subtly as ever mouthed ‘you owe me’. Phillip simply arched an eyebrow in agreement.

 

“Phillip. You wound me. You don’t know how many obstacle courses I had set up to watch them do fun tricks. And the half-breed. Certainly, you’ve seen his ass? I’m really giving up quite a bit.”

 

“I’m leaving.” Phillip announced. And didn’t have to fake the threads of frustration, annoyance, and anger.

 

“Good, go. They’re getting blood on my floor!” Jasper signaled one of his goons to unspell the cages and Phillip was there moments after, securing an arm around both of them.

 

“Do come visit Phillip. You’re no fun when you’re all business.”

 

Phillip nodded down in a way that he hoped looked more like fuck you than thank you and cast out of there to the decoy house, then quickly called a portal back to HQ.

 

-O-

 

Clint woke up just as he was getting laid on something cold and metallic. He knew he was in some kind of medical ward before all his senses were up and running. And yea, fuck no. He tried to fight his way up, and was only shushed by Nat’s voice.

 

“No. Stay down.”

 

Then came searing pain on his left side. Right—that fucking wizard slashed him open with a lightening spark. Bastard.

 

“He needs to feed.” He hadn’t heard Nat’s voice so tense. But she wasn’t in _we’re gonna die_ mode so Clint didn’t fight too hard to focus his eyes. Besides, whatever medical staff were buzzing around were still working on his side. Motherfucker.

 

“I can arrange feeders.” And whoa, that was Phil! Phil was here? Clint was at once happy, relieved, and fucking pissed.

 

He managed a sloppy “Don’t wan’em” to the feeders comment and tried to focus his vision enough to actually see Phil. Which he instantly regretted because the man looked hot as ever, even if a bit worried around the eyes.

 

Phil just sighed and moved closer to Clint’s side. “Brace yourself.” Was all Clint got before Phil literally shoved his magic through Clint. It felt like a tall drink of water after a long spar, a healing salve over scabbing skin.

 

He could actually breath again and he felt his body take over some of the much needed healing.

 

“The bleeding has stopped.” A woman commented to his right.

 

Clint sat up slowly. The magic felt foreign inside him, clunking around in a way so different from when Clint fed properly.  

 

“So… Looks like I missed some bits.” Clint ventured. Nat looked… pissed, in a resigned sort of way and Phil definitely looked a bit sheepish.

 

“Can you walk?” Phil asked and Clint was thankful it wasn’t soft and gentle more like the agent Coulson he first met.

 

“Yeah, definitely.” His legs were watery but getting stronger by the second. Phil’s magic doing its work like a spike of adrenaline.

 

The headed down to Phil’s office, Clint recognized the route around the second half. Just as soon as the door shut, Clint hobbled over to the couch and slumped down. He did need to feed, had needed to feed before shit got all sorts of fucked up.

 

“So.” Phil started. “You’re SHIELD agents now.”

 

Clint squinted, shook his head, and looked at Nat to see if he was actually going bat-shit crazy. And… he wasn’t, apparently. “What the fuck?”

 

“Agent Coulson removed us from Jasper Sitwell’s company by making him believe we have been acting as double agents since the Balakai contract.”

 

Clint looked down, too many emotions and thoughts flitting in his head to focus on one, though anger jumped to the surface. “Did you do that shit on purpose?” Clint asked accusatorily.

 

“I didn’t set out to trap you here. But I did think it would be the most likely plan to work. “ Coulson paused and then, by way of explanation, “Sitwell is… not an easy man to lie to.”

 

“He set us up.” Nat clarified. “He commissioned our contract, that’s how we were ambushed.” Clint shuddered for Sitwell’s future—very few people, _very few_ , screwed the Black Widow and got away with it.

 

“Shit.” Clint said articulately. “Well… How long are we here for?”

 

Coulson looked a bit surprised by Clint’s easy topic change, but he couldn’t read the Widow like Clint could. She _was_ pissed. But more at the whole situation having come up in the first place then Coulson’s slightly underhanded way of solving it.

 

“I have you logged in our system under a 15 year contract.”

 

Clint shrugged one shoulder and glanced sidelong at Nat. That could have been worse. About as short as it could be while still being convincing. For some reason Clint’s stomach fluttered. _Ah, Phil is actually like… a good person._

 

Nat spoke up first after that, “I think it best we start any official trainings until after we’re properly recuperated.”

 

“I agree.” Phil licked his lips and turned to his computer screen. “I’m setting you up for accelerated onboarding in 4 days.” He paused and pressed his lips together. “I will be braceleting you and will ask that you not leave the compound without a SHIELD escort.”

 

“Phil.” Clint said frankly. “We literally can’t work anywhere else but SHIELD right now.”

 

“There are always options.” He wasn’t going to budge on the bracelet thing, that much was clear to Clint. It made him almost laugh but then he guessed anyone would rather be safe than sorry when it came to the Black Widow.

 

“I’m going to book you two with a shared SHIELD unit on the compound for now. Unless, you preferred otherwise?” Phil asked non-judgmentally.

  
They both shook their heads. The thought of taking shifts being semi awake while the other slept for the next however many weeks caused Clint to sigh tiredly. There was going to be so much _work_ …just when they had such a good flow going between the two of them.

 

“Good. I’ve settled your accommodations then.” He took out two keys and swiped them through a coder on the side of his computer. “These are your access passes, they’ll get you into the cafeteria, the medical ward, your rooms, the administrative offices and the training rooms but nowhere else for now.” Phil pulled out a swear-to-Solia paper map of the compound and handed it over. Smart boy, Nat never liked orbs or tablets because they could always double as recording devices.

 

Nat stayed silent, actively absorbing the information while giving none away herself.

 

Phil soldiered on, all competent and annoyingly attractive. “I’ve put in two orders for feeders over the next few days. As you need it, you’ll have to submit requests with admin.”

 

Clint’s stomach dropped at that, his mouth already turning petulant. “I don’t use feeders. I need to go out and pick up.”

 

Nat’s look held all the patience of a newborn vampire. Yeah, so he heard the bit about not leaving the compound but he didn’t have to _agree_ with it.

 

“That will not be possible.” Phil started slowly.

 

Nat just sighed, judgy bitch, and collected her map (already memorized likely). She stood up and cast him one exasperated look that said enough for a 10 minute conversation. “I’ll make my way to the administrative department to put in my requests.” She held out her wrist and without any hesitation, Phil cuffed it with a tracker bracelet. A fancy one to boot.

 

The door closing behind her left Clint in a starting contest with Phil.

 

Phil rubbed the bridge of his nose and started to speak first, hah, Clint won.

 

“Hawkeye, SHIELD has a wide selection of feeders that would certainly—“

 

“I don’t want them.” Clint hardened his eyes and looked pointedly at the floor.

 

“Why not, Clint?” Phil asked softly. And that wasn’t fair at all, using his name all strategic like.

 

“I’m not--, it doesn’t.” Clint huffed out a breath. “Sex isn’t the same for half-breeds as it is for full breeds, it still means _something_.”

 

Clint chanced a look at Phil and wished that he hadn’t. The man was at once thoughtful and sad. Clint couldn’t feel his magic anymore to be sure and that made him sad too.

 

“Okay.” Phil said.

 

Clint’s brow furrowed. “Okay?”

 

“I can’t escort you off the compound but, if you’re willing, I can act as your feeder.” Phil held his eyes and added gently after, “This last time.”

 

Clint narrowed his eyes. “I _never_ thought of you as a feeder, Phil.”

 

The dragon held up his hands, “I know that. I just mean—especially now that you’ll be an agent on top of everything else. This should be our last…affair.”

 

Affair.

 

“Right here then, over your desk? Real classy-like?” Clint was being mean, but he was feeling mean, and insecure and hurt. All the unsaid shit from Urepu coming up to bite him the ass.

 

Phil cleared his throat. “Privacy settings on.” He said aloud and Clint watched as the glass in his office darkened and the door bolted three times. After that he rubbed his thumb along the tops of his other fingers and opened his palm an obvious spell. Around them the room shifted, like a turning board. Phil’s office passed from view, being replaced by a quaint bedroom.

 

Phil leaned against the far dresser, leg hooking over the other one.

 

"Won't someone notice?" Clint thought about Phil and how he could perceive everything about Clint's magic.

 

"I would be the one to notice, honestly." Phil licked his lips, uncharacteristically nervous. "You don't have to, I just thought..."

 

"No, I--"  Clint rubbed at the back of his neck, suddenly shy. "I appreciate the gesture.  It’s just hard for me too, knowing you're just going to be around all the time now. And not being able--"  Clint shook his head. "I'd rather this way than someone watching me pick up or something."

 

Phil nodded, but he didn't seem convinced and he didn't make any moves to approach Clint either. 

 

"Phil," Clint stepped forward, giving in to the ever-constant urge to touch Phil, run his hands over his chest and down his shoulder blades. "It's okay."  The dragon remained distant, arms still loosely crossed over his chest.  Clint let his lips press against his neck, scenting and nipping.  The shiver that passed through him was testament to their chemistry, always there under the surface.

 

Clint was happy to see that Phil wasn't immune to it either.  He released a breath and unwound his hands, letting them slide down Clint's waist to rest on his hips.

 

"You're so beautiful."  He sighed, like it hurt him to notice, to see.

 

Clint blushed into his neck, following his tongue to Phil's earlobe. "I missed this."

 

Phil just looped his arms around Clint's back and pulled him tightly against his body. "Yeah."

 

They didn't say anything really after that. The kissing came, and then the tongue, Phil's delicious tongue that slid down his throat and had a direct connection to Clint's dick.  They groped each other freely--gentle at first and then hasty and needy.

 

Clint couldn't remember getting naked, just that there was too much clothing and then none at all. He groaned into Phil's mouth as he lay on his back.  Phil just looked at him for several long seconds, tracking every cut of muscle, brush of hair, he ran his fingers everywhere, over the gash in his side that was still healing over.

 

"Slow, okay?" Phil asked, nodding at Clint's side.

 

"Yeah, don't want it over too fast."

 

Phil followed that request diligently.  He painstakingly licked and sucked all the places that made Clint gasp.  A swirl around his nipple, a few nips along his neck, deep sucks to his inner thighs, a heavy swipe from his taint over his balls. Up and down again.

 

"Fuck, Phil, babe come on." Clint shuddered with anticipation--Phil's magic already starting Clint on a bit of a high.

 

"Want me to stretch you?"

 

Clint shook his head, he wanted it to burn just right.  He was already soaking wet he wanted to feel it, make it seem like it would last.

 

Phil bracketed one forearm beside Clint's head and they shared a wet kiss that Clint had to break with a gasp.  The feel of Phil's cock, the ridging, how could he have forgotten how incredibly overwhelming it could be? "Fuck yes, that's perfect."

 

Clint arched his neck, letting the wide stretch of his hole around Phil's cock consume him just a little bit--he tried to imagine the reddened rim, the way the ridging disappeared, reappeared, and disappeared again. He let Phil swallow all his moans and allowed himself to just feel, be as aware as he could be.  He was so wet, he could actually hear Phil pumping smoothly.  He clenched down, to really feel each ridge as it passed and he muffled Phil's groan with his tongue.

 

Phil took it slow--a sweet stroking that had Clint clutching to his shoulders and shaking with need.  Clint's body was too battered to orgasm first, so they did it together a unified build and a joined release. Phil’s magic surged through hill, filling all the cracks and lighting up his core. Clint was out of it for a bit, which he was actually a bit sad about it.  He was too fucked out to be able to really appreciate Phil's orgasm, the shake of his body, and the tightening of his muscles.  He even missed the sounds.  Clint could only catalogue their mutual panting as he came down, wrapped up and around Phil.

 

Phil's cock was still inside him.

 

He flexed his hole experimentally around Phil's shaft and the dragon grunted in response.

 

"Feeling better?"  He nosed along Clint's neck, firm and much too affectionate for the reality of their situation.

 

"Better than I have in while."

 

Phil reached below and very softly pulled out.  Still raw from the feeding, Clint couldn't help his high whine of distress. "Shhh, precious, I'm still here."

 

They laid in silence.  There was too much to say, too much unsaid.  Clint felt it all piercing his glow and pressing down on his chest.  Phil broke the silence first.

 

"I always wondered...'  He stopped himself and Clint could feel him debating his next words.  He missed this certainty that he had about Phil's emotions after a feeding.

 

"What?"

 

"You get so...compromised, after a feeding, I always wondered how you do it, safely, when you're..." _not with me_

 

"It's not a usual response."  Clint whispered.  "It's only happened with you so far."

 

"Oh."

 

Clint heaved out a sigh and sat up, suddenly too raw and open for any more conversation.  "Can you like, shift the room to a shower?"

 

Phil quirked his lips and stood, Clint following and the room shifted to a large bathroom with a stand-up shower and a tub. It seemed very... gym like almost? "What are these rooms?"

 

"They're the model of a feeder suite."

 

"Ah." Clint opened the glass door and stepped in.  He looked over his shoulder expectantly. "Well?"

 

Phil's eyes crinkled around the edges as he followed. They moved around each other with such ease that Clint was hard pressed to remember that any time had passed since Urepu.  But he _did_ remember, and time _had_ passed and now they were here--trying to figure out how to be more like strangers and less like lovers.

 

Phil was the one with the resolve to turn the water off.

 

It felt like a period at the end of whatever sentence they had made together.  They dressed in silence, avoiding each others eyes.  It wasn't until the room was properly back to a cold and utilitarian office and Clint had his keycard in his hand that either of them spoke.

 

"Thank you, by the way, for the arrows and the box."  Clint bit the inside of his cheek but had enough courage or defiance or both to meet Phil's eyes.

 

The tight lines around Phil's mouth softened. "I'm glad.  Have they been useful?"

 

"Very."

 

"Good."

 

 _The end._ Clint thought. He pressed the button next to the door, feeling Phil's eyes on his back as it slid open. "See you later Coulson."

 

Clint walked down the unfamiliar hallways with ease, following the map he had memorized.  This was his life now.  Agent of SHIELD, hopelessly in love with his boss who was way, _way_ out of his league.  He allowed himself the 12 minutes it took him to get to his assigned room to feel sorry for himself.  After, he had to get into his mental game.  He had to be Hawkeye.  He had to let whatever fantasy he had about Phil (however deep) go.  This was another environment to adapt to, to thrive in, to survive.  And he was good at that, if nothing else.  

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello there ever patient and benevolent readers!
> 
> Thank you for sticking with this story. There are a few chapters left. If you hang in there, I promise a light at the end of this angst. I know, I know, hurts so goood. 
> 
> These boys are idiots. Natasha knows all. Also...Clint's wings, what is up with them?
> 
> Feedback always welcomed and greatly appreciated. This work is not beta'd which means all grammar and other mistakes are entirely mine gahhhhh.


	6. The Stone of Rukh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint and Nat transition into SHIELD...Phil has some feelings about this. Oh, and, about those gosh darn purple wings!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick thank you to hand and flurry37--your comments truly helped me crank this out faster!

They started with the contract. Cross legged on Clint’s bed, Natasha meticulously reviewed the document, reading out parts that she found important or interesting.

 

“Hmm.”

 

“What?” Clint yawned and pulled his arm behind his head.

 

“We have the right to decline participation in a mission, provided we present a reasonable case to the Assistant Director.”

 

“That’s good right?” Clint scrunched his eyebrows. Nat looked like she was waiting for the trap door.

 

“Ah. I see.” Nat looked up. “Your dragon is quite smart. Each mission can earn us a certain amount of credits. If we reach 1,350 credits by ten years we will be eligible for early release of our contract.”

 

Nat handed him the contract, and flipped to the page she was reviewing.

 

Clint looked over the section she was referring to, and smiled to himself when the language reminded him so much of Phil.

_Mission Objective accomplished, on budget, no casualties, no compromised covers +10_

_Mission Objective accomplished, over budget, no causalities, no compromised cover +9_

_Mission Objective accomplished, over budget, no causalities, compromised cover +8_

_Mission Objective accomplished, on budget, no causalities, compromised cover +7_

_Mission objective accomplished, on budget, casualties > 2, compromised cover +6_

_Mission objective accomplished, on budget casualties > 5, compromised cover +5_

_Mission objective accomplished, over budget, casualties > 2, compromised cover +4_

_Mission objective accomplished, over budget, causalities > 5, compromised cover +3_

_Mission objective accomplished, over budget, causalities 10 or greater, compromised cover +1_

_Mission objective not accomplished, on budget, no causalities, no compromised cover +0_

_Mission objective not accomplished, on budget, no causalities, compromised cover -1…_

“We can veto cases or do them poorly so that we are not useful to the agency and therefore never utilized, however that means our contact will be binding for the full 15 years.” Nat smirked. “It is in our best interest to do a good job.”

 

“I figured as much.”

 

Nat informed him that they did get a salary, a decent one. While not as high as their largest contract, if you accounted for the fact that they wouldn’t have to pay their own expenses and averaged out what they made across a year… it wasn’t terrible.

 

They also got full weapons privileges after completion of the necessary training. And a budget for personal weapons, gear, physical conditioning equipment.

 

They had free medical care to boot.

 

“No more backseat surgery, I guess.” Clint joked.

 

“Knowing you, I’m not so sure.”

 

They fell back into silence until Nat cleared her throat. “This is important—“ She sat up and said, “You are not allowed to shift while on active mission or in public areas without expressed permission from your supervising officer.”

 

“Wha?” Clint turned and took the contract from Nat. He read the line over twice, in case he hadn’t understood the wording. But it was true. Apparently SHIELD wanted to reserve the right to his shifting power. There was language in the paragraph about extenuating circumstances and deadly measures but it still perplexed him. “What do you think that’s about?”

 

Nat simply arched an eyebrow and shrugged one shoulder delicately. Not an ‘I have no idea’ shrug, a ‘I probably know but wont tell you shrug.’ Whatever. It was not the end of the world. For the most part, he didn’t shift while on mission—the acrobatics from the circus usually got him far enough. And shifting always tore his tac suits.

 

“Alrighty then,” He laid back down while she finished with the rest of it.

 

All and all Nat confirmed that it _was_ a fair contract. They still kept the light on and decided on a shift schedule. Nat liked to nap after a feeding, so Clint took the first watch.

 

No one came in the night, and Clint figured that was as good a sign as any to put in a little effort. The following day was packed with medical assessments, physicals, skills, and personality tests, paperwork and more paperwork. They had to take a number of content-based evaluations to see if they could test out of things like: Sindarian Underworld Culture 101. For the love of Solia…

 

But the contract, it wasn’t terrible. Not terrible at all…

 

-O-

 

Thing was, him and Nat were _good_ at being SHEILD agents. Not always the ‘being a part of the team bit’, or the ‘trusting other SHIELD agents’ bit… but everything else was good. Really good. Clint beat every archery record anyone at SHIELD had ever held. Nat outscored literally every agent below clearance level 7 at hand-to-hand combat.

 

Clint saw Coulson (never Phil now) in passing. A quick glance in the hallway, a brief 20 minute check-in, his name on the letterhead of Clint’s paperwork.

 

It came as a surprise then, when Clint did not test out of Intermediate Knowledge on Supernatural Creatures’ Characteristics, Magic, and Behaviors. He hadn’t tested out of any of the history courses they were assigned, but that was no shocker. (Stupid Nat. Clint still held that being alive when everything that you were being tested on went down was somehow cheating.) But he _knew_ about supernaturals and their powers, he knew a shit-ton.

 

Clint marched down to Coulson’s office, attempting to cool himself off with each step. When he arrived, Maria Hill was just slipping out. She took a cursory glance at him and smiled, “He’s got 10 minutes before his next meeting.”

 

“Thanks.” Clint grumbled and pushed past the door.

 

“Agent Barton.” Coulson’s face flashed the briefest look of surprise before it smoothed over. “What can I do for you?”

 

“Why did I get put in the Intermediate Knowledge course on Supernatural Beings?” Clint demanded outright, arms crossed (not defensively!) over his chest.

 

“You did not score high enough on your initial knowledge assessment.”

 

“Bullshit. I can recite circles around these baby agents.” Clint raised his eyebrows, daring Coulson to deny it.

 

“You can recite circles about the things you know well. You know impressively advanced facts about _some_ Supernatural Creatures, but you demonstrate a surprising lack of understanding of basic knowledge across the _majority_ of Supernatural Creatures.” Coulson explained, like he had memorized the report or something.

 

Clint huffed. “I get by just fine.” Clint figured that made sense. He had gathered his knowledge the old fashioned way—by actually doing the work and sometimes truly stepping in it and learning from the mistake. That didn’t lead to “even levels” of learning.

 

“ ‘Just fine’ is not good enough for missions that could have life and death consequences.” Coulson reminded, not unkindly.

 

“Yeah, okay, whatever.” Clint turned to leave, grumpy because Coulson was probably right, as always.

 

“Barton.”

 

“What?” Clint looked back and was surprised to see a soft expression on Coulson’s face. Almost, proud?

 

“You and Romanova are doing a wonderful job here. I hope you know that.”

 

“We haven’t actually bagged a mission yet, boss.” Clint reminded the agent to distract himself from the butterflies in his stomach.

 

“You will.”

 

Clint left, because the confidence in Coulson’s voice made his knees weaken just a little.

 

-O-

 

  

The Intermediate Knowledge on Supernatural Beings was hard. Harder than the history classes, harder than anything else he had done. After the first quiz, the teacher had pulled him aside and asked him if he had even done the readings at all. Which he had, of course he had. He grumbled about it to Nat who lectured him on his test-taking skills and how he needed to know strategies, understand what the instructor was looking for. But Clint felt too defeated to really listen to her.

 

That asshole Rumlow was in the class. Looking dashing and rich and smart. He was doing well, would let people know it, would make snide comments about Clint’s street-smart upbringing, wondering why Coulson would bother with Waoia trash.

  
It was annoying… because in this case, this _one_ case, apparently Rumlow was right. He wasn’t getting it, and Clint figured he wasn’t as smart as the others, who seemed to not even have to study. “Its nice that this class is so easy.” He heard one girl say and another nodding with a sigh, “Yeah, it’s a good break from the rest of it.”

 

It stung.

 

He spent class time fluctuating between focusing so hard the crease where his eyebrows met hurt, and staring off over the building’s side lawn where agents were running drills—bored out his mind. It was utterly confusing. He knew the material. Had practically memorized the textbook. Sometimes he knew something so well, he would want to correct the instructor’s interpretation, give his own opinion. He didn’t, because even with all that, he still failed the first exam.

 

The following morning he was expected in Coulson’s office.

 

-O-

 

Phillip was on the phone when Clint slumped down in chair across from his desk. He looked angry, and annoyed, and a bit dejected.

 

“Yes. Thank you Fitz. I’ll let Fury and Audrey know.” He ended the call, evenly, normally, trying to let Clint know that he wasn’t angry, just curious.

 

When his eyes turned on Clint, he could tell the shifter was doing his best to get a read on him. “I reviewed your Intermediate Knowledge exam.”

 

“Yeah.” Clint twisted up his mouth but didn’t make eye contact.

 

“I’m surprised at your performance.” Coulson continued. And then, just to get a reaction said, “You don’t seem like the type that would slack off in a class just because you resent being placed in it.”

 

“Fuck you! I _haven’t_ slacked off. The exams suck.” Why a grown adult basically sulking made Coulson smile internally, he hadn’t the slightest idea. But Clint was an open book with him, never guarding or holding things back. It was… nice, endearing, refreshing.

 

Coulson cleared his throat, “Okay then. So if a Bulkarian offered you some spiced Meh`eè in the high solar month, you would….”

 

Clint looked up, eyes filled with challenge.  He spit out hotly, “Well, I definitely would _not_ eat that shit, summer is mating season and their fucking aphrodisiacs could literally make you go out of your mind all while your dick’s hard as fuck.”

 

Coulson’s lip quirked, “On question number 4, _list 3 critical items an agent should keep in mind while conducting a mission in Bulkaria in the high solar month,_ you did not provide any reference to mating season or the aphrodisiac Meh`eè. You stated, Noon-time/ Hot Sun, Territorial Alpha Females, and Outdoor eating.”

 

Clint sat up in his chair, hands gesturing spastically, “Okay, _everyone_ knows not to eat Meh`eè in Bulkaria in the high Solar month, that’s not a _risk_ that’s common fucking knowledge. What’s a risk, is the fact that all Bulkarians fucking eat _outside_ , especially in the summer. And they always invite people to brunch, especially for business deals and social calls and shit. And as soon as that sun hits it’s highest point, you’re a fucking crisp. And its super fucking rude to cut a meal short in Bulkaria so yeah, you have to be careful with the heat and the sun so you don’t fry yourself alive or get shanked because you left a brunch early and basically told someone they were shit and not worth your time.” He slumped back, deflated.

 

Phillip thought about Barton’s answer. The magic of his own scales protected him from extreme heat, but most other creatures were not so lucky. It _was_ true, that most Bulkarians would book brunch from 10:00 in the morning to 1:00pm in the afternoon, however the sun was at its highest peak at 12:00, making it impossible for someone with Barton’s skin to be outdoors until after 3:00 in the afternoon.

 

“I see.”

 

Barton’s shoulders dropped a little. “Its just hard to know what she’s asking.” He mumbled, lip looking dangerously adorable in its almost-there pout.

 

Coulson could see his point. The test was designed to assess if agents could regurgitate basic information. Barton was well beyond that point in his career. He needed questions contextualized, relevant. Floating recall questions effectively caused him to overthink it.

 

“I’m going to suggest a few edits to the Intermediate level exam format. I didn’t realize how rudimentary the questions are in relation to how layered an actual experience can be.”

 

Barton sputtered, “You’re going to change the entire format because I failed one test?”

 

“No.” Coulson smirked, “I’m going to change the entire test format because it is not nearly as functional as I would like it to be. Thank you, agent Barton, for drawing that to my attention.”

 

Coulson enjoyed the way Barton still looked confused when he left his office. The man was a constant wonder to Phillip and he enjoyed the moments were he could keep Barton guessing in return.

 

It had been hard. Harder than he expected. To watch Barton from the sidelines, to read about his success, to approve his limited leave requests for feedings. Going to work had become a practice in patience and discipline because any moment could bring him face to face with the archer that had been haunting his short-lived day dreams, and late-night musings.

 

He still _wanted_.

 

Every time he caught a glimpse of Barton oiling his bow, or laughing good naturedly with some of his peers, or narrowing his eyes at the few bullies that had risen in the newest class of baby agents. There were so many times when he wanted to drag Barton into his office and shove him to his knees. But there were other times, when he wanted to smooth out his expression with a kiss and wrap him in his arms. Both hurt. Both were absolute shit.

 

But here, at SHIELD, he was Agent Phillip Coulson. He had responsibilities. There was protocol. He was already well over 200 years old, what were 15 years of torture?

 

Thankfully, the work was still abundant. The incident with Audrey had revealed various links to unsolved cases that suggested a dangerous strategy from Hydra. Coulson and Fury were also positive there were double agents in their ranks and had to be scrupulous with their investigations (staging multiple decoy missions to make Hydra believe they were on the wrong track and to test groups of agents).

 

Phillip wondered how long it would take to loop Barton and Romanova into high clearance level missions. Probably not long at all, if their progress to date was any indicator.

 

Phillip sighed and leaned back in his chair. He pulled up the Intermediate exam for Supernaturals and groaned. It would be a lot more work than he realized to make the format even remotely useful. He rubbed his brow and got to work. True or false questions, seriously? Phillip made a mental note to make time to review all the intermediate level exams.

 

-O-

 

 

The next test that Clint took contained all problem solving, real life scenarios. It required the test taker to apply knowledge he/she learned to situations where only a limited amount of information was available.

 

Not only did Clint finish first, he was pretty sure, based on the curve that the instructor drew on the board a week later when their exams were graded, that he ranked the highest. The teacher even congratulated him, complimenting his creative use of information.

 

Clint felt like he was going insane. The exam was literally 10 times easier than the first one she administered. And everyone was grumbling, shaking their heads and cursing Coulson’s name, whispering angrily that he had gotten his hands on the exam format and changed it. Rumor had it that he was making his way through all the intermediate and basic level exams like he had done for the advanced ones a few decades ago.

 

Clint marched his way over to Coulson’s office and got the sick satisfaction of slamming his test down on the dragon’s desk while he was actually sitting behind it.

 

“Did you rig that shit? I don’t need you handling me with kid gloves.” Clint narrowed his eyes. He wasn’t looking for any hand-outs. When he had suddenly become so invested in actually doing well at SHIELD was beyond him. But whatever. He was here, and he never liked short-cuts or doing shit half-assed.

 

“I did not rig the exam, Barton.” Coulson’s lips pursed in amusement.

 

“Well, what the fuck, that shit was so easy.”

 

Coulson’s eyes warmed a touch. “Not for the rest of the class. You were the top score by 18 points.”

 

“Seriously?” Clint asked hesitantly. 18 points higher then that know-it-all Rumlow? Clint liked the sound of that.

 

“Yes, Barton. Apparently no one has informed you that you are very intelligent.” Coulson deadpanned. But it was too close to a compliment, a real one, that all Clint could do was blush and rub the back of his neck. He slumped in one of the ugly utilitarian chairs in front of Phil’s desk, eyes picking out imperfections in the rug.

 

Softly, because he wasn’t totally sure he wanted Coulson to hear him, he said, “Its hard to tell what I’m good at anymore. You know, I never really did school, like, officially.”

 

“That’s what makes your success even more impressive.” Coulson answered seriously, and, in a surprising break in general robotness, gripped Clint’s wrist and squeezed. The touch was no less sizzling than it ever was. But, it was also reassuring, congratulatory, proud.

 

“Thanks, Coulson.”

 

It was much better after that.

 

Nat only muttered in some old language when he told her the story and shook her head. She called him an idiot in a language he did speak and then sauntered off to do… whatever she did when she was doing her Widow thing.

 

Clint would never really know all there was to her. He enjoyed that though.

 

And anyway. It was nice to be learning things that he previously had to rely on Nat for. Like, everyone knew that Garden trolls preferred gifts of seeds to gifts of gold, but who knew that they preferred grass seeds over any other kind? Clint would have totally gone for like some rare tree or flower seed, but no, regular old grass seed so that they could make their homes, and their clothes, and their beds.

 

Sometimes, when she was feeling generous, Nat would share a story about her life before she met Clint. Like with the garden trolls. Nat had spent nearly a year living amongst a garden troll tribe in Lukaluka’hai. They despised her height and the fact that she had built her shelter out of wood. But they like that she taught them how to make small structures when it rained so that their new seedlings wouldn’t be run off in the rainy season.

 

“Of course,” Nat said “I had to kidnap their princess for a wizard’s offering, so they certainly cursed me after that.”

 

Clint just gaped, eyes wide and blinking. She started laughing. “She’s still alive. I’m not a monster. But she is missing her hair.”

 

 _A sign of incredible beauty and wealth_ , Clint’s mind supplied from his course, because female garden trolls grew hair in multi-colors of red, blues, oranges, yellows, and pinks.

 

“This, little bird,” Nat said, smile soft and loving, “is why I don’t tell you things. And why I will do anything in my power so that you never have to do the things I have done.”

 

Clint’s eyes prickled. No one, except maybe Barney, had ever cared enough about him like that. Had ever cared how something would make Clint feel, how it could break him, leave him empty and hollow. But Nat did that for him, had always made those sacrifices. She could have easily accepted jobs, terrible, dirty jobs that paid well. And Clint would have done them, for her. But she hadn’t. Not once.

 

“Shhh.” She whispered, still smiling. “I have red in my ledger, little bird. And you’re helping me pay my debts. Even now, here at SHIELD of all places, my debts are being paid.”

 

Clint cleared his throat, clogged with emotion. “Thanks Nat.”

 

 

-O-

 

Their first mission was not a success per se. But no one died. So there was that. There was a Beiosun government building that was probably still in flames but… no one died. Including civilians.

 

Thing was, Nat and Clint weren’t used to having a “handler”. Someone in their ear calling the shots, doing the strategy. It was ridiculously hard to trust that the information they were getting was accurate.

 

Clint genuinely felt bad for Woo. He really wasn’t a bad guy, and Clint was man enough to admit that the outcome of the mission was entirely his and Nat’s fault.

 

The whole way home on the jet, Woo shook his head and muttered about the “damn fucking paperwork” and generally tried to keep his claws from shifting and retracting. He threatened them with Coulson mid-rant, saying “If any of that was remotely on purpose, Coulson is going to skin you alive.”

 

He and Nat were sent directly to Coulson’s office when they returned to headquarters. The edge of Clint’s suit was still singed from the fire. It would have been funny—these all star recruits hanging their heads like a couple of amateurs, except Clint wasn’t positive that SHIELD’s other shoe hadn’t dropped. Like what did they do when agents fucked up? Were there cells or punishment regimens or some shit like that?

 

Thankfully, Coulson didn’t look pissed, not like he had when Rumlow tried to frame Clint for stealing arrows from the weaponry department ( _as if,_ that dude was dumb as rocks). He did look disappointed though, and a little tired.

 

“Barton. Romanova. Come in.”

 

They shuffled in quietly, closing the door behind them. Coulson motioned for them to sit and they complied, stiff though, alert.

 

“I read the pre-lim report about Beiosu.” Coulson started. “While I’m glad you did not have any causalities, infrastructure collaterals are a major issue, particularly where discretion is concerned.”

 

Clint nodded, eyes focused on the perfect symmetry of Coulson’s tie knot.

 

“So, what happened?” Coulson leaned back a little, fingers arched.

 

Nat, beautiful Nat, started. Clinical and exact, she recounted the mission, the decision making, articulating for the both of them how the events unfolded and why. They couldn’t actually _see_ the target and if Woo had been wrong they would have been toast. He looked up at that part, hoped Coulson could see the earnestness in his eyes.

 

“I see.” Coulson responded when Nat finished. “I’m curious why this wasn’t an issue on the mission we completed together.”

 

Nat and Clint shared a look. _How exactly to say it?_ Clint started lowly, “But, you were the primary agent in the field then. I had a clear exit, Nat was back at the base, and you were… you were the one that would be shit out of luck if your team made the wrong call.”

 

“Ah.” Coulson nodded to himself and stamped something on the preliminary report and signed underneath it. “Burning government buildings require a lot of paperwork, as well as labor resources to cover-up the incident and channel funds for reparations. Considering this, I’m assigning you to SHIELD’s archive room for filing duty for the next two weeks. Victoria Hand will tell you what to do everyday and I expect you to do it well. After, we will discuss your next mission.” He passed them both their assignment paperwork—his bland-robot mask snugly in place.

 

Clint’s mouth was surely hanging open. It was an administrative slap on the wrist. Filing? FILING? Was Coulson kidding?

 

Coulson drew another sheet from the top of his file and began scribbling dutifully so Nat and Clint assumed they were dismissed. They scampered out, feeling a little like they were getting away with something.

 

May passed them in the hallway, eyebrows arched at their disoriented expressions. “So what’d he give you then?”

 

Clint held up his paperwork and May winced. “So you _did_ blow-up the Beiosun parliament building after all. Welcome to the other side of SHIELD. It’s not all fun and games and cool weaponry toys.”

 

Clint rolled his eyes. He was absolutely going to laugh at anyone at SHIELD that thought filing was better than a beating.

 

-O-

 

Of course, he was wrong.

 

He would have preferred the whip. Then at least it was over and done with.

 

Filing was evil. The bane of his existence. His brain hurt, his eyes hurt, he didn’t want to read another fucking surveillance mission report, he didn’t want to input it word for word into the electronic database, he didn’t want Hand checking his work and tsking her snake tongue.

 

He looked morosely at Nat, serene as ever, using the punishment as an opportunity to gain intel. Ever the spy.

 

“I hate you.” He muttered lowly. Because he learned, the first day, that if he joked, laughed, or even smiled too loud, Hand would bite his head off (or at least threaten him with her venom). Filing and data entry were not _fun_. It was serious. Serious life changing work. Apparently.

 

“This looks like one of Coulson’s first missions.” Nat commented causally. Under-handed bitch.

 

Clint did perk up though and made gimme gimme motions with his hands. Nat rolled her eyes fondly and passed it over. It should have been just as boring as the rest of the surveillance reports, but it wasn’t at all. They way Coulson documented the mission was suspenseful, detailed, Clint could imagine himself there, on the rooftop tracking the target’s movements, inferring information. He included things like the target’s tattoos, or the symbol underneath the keyhole of the door the target slipped through. It was raining, two ticks past the Blakart Moon.

 

When he finished, Nat dumped a small stack in front of him, a knowing smirk curving her mouth, “These are all his. So stop bitching.”

 

The punishment wasn’t so bad after that. And, after they completed their next mission (no causalities, no blown covers, and no government buildings in flames) Coulson personally complimented him on his report, making special note of his attention to detail.

 

Nat mercilessly made fun of him, cackling on their way to the weapon’s deposit, mocking the face he supposedly made when Coulson had said, “Excellent work Barton.”

 

Clint stuck out his tongue and made some lame dig about Nat being too old to have a sense of humor.

 

-O-

 

The first time Phillip conducted a mission with what would later become Strike Team Delta was of mixed results. The parts that were good were very good. But the parts, one part really, that went awry went very awry.

 

SHIELD had been keeping Hawkeye and the Widow on lower level missions for about a year and, apart from the first missions, they were an incredible asset to SHIELD’s field team.

 

But a mission related to Hydra’s collection of magic conducting artifacts popped up urgently, and Phillip made a case to Fury about needing the Widow and Hawkeye specifically. Fury felt that two weren’t ready, Phillip felt there wasn’t anyone else he could trust. Fury relented, ultimately, and made some vague threat to Phillips career that they both knew was completely bullshit.

 

The mission was in Caameri, Hawkeye’s home kingdom, and not too far from the city of Waoia. An old family estate was coming on the market. Its Dwarf inhabitants had completely mined the Yorck mountain range and were migrating North to look for more fertile mining property. While Coulson didn’t expect the Garììk family to be selling any of its heirlooms, SHIELD got a tip that the auction may be the target of a robbery, it didn’t take too much digging to surmise who the contractor was.

 

“The Garììks? Seriously? They’re greedy assholes.” Barton grumbled, eyes fervently scanning the dossier. He leaned back, the conference chair balanced precariously on its two back legs.

 

“Greedy _and_ wealthy. We think the Stone of Rukh is the target. It’s the most powerful fairfieldite stone ever mined.” Coulson commented “While fairfieldite doesn’t conduct a large quantity of magical energy it—“

 

“Yeah, yeah, it helps the user focus particular types of energy.” Barton smirked, “You did make us take all those classes, Coulson.”

 

Coulson quirked his lips and checked his timepiece. He could not get distracted by the way Barton’s eyes crinkled when he was teasing someone, or the way Coulson still wanted to lick his lips, shove his tongue down the other man’s throat, and taste his moans.

 

“When was the last time anyone actually saw the Stone of Rukh? In my experience, Dwarfs are very good at keeping their treasures hidden.” Romanova asked, dossier flipped to the only known photo of the stone.

 

Coulson sighed, “We know that the Garììk family elders use the stone every year during their Sumanucc ceremony. But its resting place throughout the year is completely unknown. We assume it resides somewhere on the estate because surveillance reports from this past year’s ceremony indicate that no deliveries of importance seemed to have taken place leading up to the event.”

 

Barton scoffed, “Alrighty, so don’t let the bad guys take the stone, yeah? Doesn’t mean we actually have to know where it is.”

 

“Preciously the hope, Barton.” Coulson highlighted a few more items about the mission and then they made their way to their portal.

 

Thankfully, their safehouse in Yorck was well-preserved and relatively stocked with equipment. The haul that they brought with them was more than enough to establish a base. From the safehouse, they made their way downtown, with Romanova as an international buyer and Barton as her hired muscle. Phillip made sure Romanova was outfitted with some jewelry from his personal collection—precious stones with high craftsmanship that would hopefully impress the dwarfs and help confirm her cover as a long-standing player in the field.

 

“Rubies? How thoughtful Coulson.” The Widow smiled. They both knew the necklace only accentuated her vibrant red waves.

 

Phillip remained at base for the majority of the mission. He watched, ever impressed at how The Widow and Hawkeye smoozed the guests staying at their hotel, and ran recon covertly with the staff of the auction.

 

The event ran over a three day stretch, with guests being treated to demonstrations of the stones, jewelry and minerals on the first day, a reveal of starting bids and general getting to know the competition on the second day, and the actual live auction on the third. The first two days had been wildly successful if Phillip were to measure by how well The Widow and Hawkeye were accepted into the fold. There was a darkness, a dirtiness that you couldn’t teach rookies that the supernatural world could sense instantly. Naturally, the Widow had that in spades.

 

It wasn’t until the third day, of course, when Hydra made its move. If Phillip was a lesser agent, was even a half century younger, he might have actually fallen for Hydra’s distraction ploy.

 

It was the morning of the auction and, having seen no activity until that point, Coulson made the executive decision to station himself closer to the Garììk estate. He made sure to extend his perceptive senses, allowing himself to pick up on any magical disturbances.

 

The auction started predictably. A few choice items going to bidders that had made their interest clear throughout the three day invitational. Romanova did an excellent job of participating while not actually winning any of the purchases. After the fifth item came to the floor, Phillip felt a shifting in the magical energy, something subtle but more tense. Phillip tried to expand his abilities further, but couldn’t pinpoint what had the hairs on the back of his neck rising.

 

He touched his ear piece, “Hawkeye, give me a read on the room.”

 

Hawkeye, stationed on the back wall of the auction room was versed enough in keeping his voice low and his mouth barely moving that Phillip had no concerns about him reporting out in the middle of the auction. Hawkeye hesitated for a beat and then, “I’m not sure, sir. Everything seems fine.” Phillip could hear the _but_ in his voice, he must have been sensing something as well.

 

The fifth item on the floor had sparked a bidding war—two competing arms dealers wanted the same antique sword, gilted with magical stones and minerals. It was gorgeous, and Phillip himself would have bid on it had he been here on personal business.

 

“Tell me what you see.” Phillip urged.

 

“Its…” Hawkeye hesitated again, unsure of himself. But he cleared his throat and pressed on, “The bidder’s movements are not… natural. They seem robotic, like when someone—“

 

“Is under a body control spell.” Phillip finished. He localized his perceptive magic and sure enough he could feel the external magical presence on the two opposing dealers. “Affirmative, Hawkeye. I’m detecting foreign magic.”

 

Phillip followed the information to its logical conclusion. If they had both been spelled with orders to not allow the other to win the bid, it would be physically impossible for them to stop bidding. The next items in the cue would be stalled, staff would have to stand by the items since they were not moving down the line, which meant that the back staff room would be sparsely frequented if not abandoned.

 

“Hawkeye. I need you to meet me in the backstaff room immediately. Romanova stay alert, be ready to cause a distraction on my command.”

 

“Affirmative.” She whispered, calm as the day was long. Phillip appreciated that about her.

By the time he had thrown up a disguise spell, complete with staff outfitting, Hawkeye was already in the room, searching for any concerning evidence. He was disoriented at first, eyes searching and then relaxed with understanding, “Sir” He acknowledged, “There hasn’t been a single person back here since I arrived.”

 

Phillip sighed. Either Hydra’s use for the back room had already been achieved or there was something he was missing. Phillip worked his jaw, mind filtering through possible scenarios.

 

“Sir,” Hawkeye interrupted, eyes trained on the floor. “There are inscriptions on the floor.”

 

Phillip looked down, but all he could see was worn out concrete. He dropped to his knees and summoned a magnifying glass. Hawkeye crouched down and traced a patch of floor with his finger. Sure enough, ancient dwarfish script came into view.

 

“Holy Solia.” Phillip breathed. He popped up. “What does it look like Hawkeye? What is the pattern?” He didn’t have time to pass a magnifying glass over the whole floor, he had to rely on Hawkeye’s ability to describe it.

 

“It’s a spiral pattern, but the center is here.” Hawkeye placed his foot a few feet from the doorway. And the end of the spiral trails behind that wall.” Hawkeye walked over to the far stone wall, seemingly a plan block of rock. He touched his fingertip to the middle and said, “There’s a circle of words here.”

 

Phillip walked over and passed his magnifying glass over the spot.

 

هر سنگ توسط خدایان برکت برای آنها تا به حال به لمس هر یک را به آن محل است. خدایان می توانید با آب دهان چه تو را داده اند. اعلام خود احترام و خالص دل و شما باید در اینجا خوش آمدید.

 

_Every stone is blessed by the gods for they had to touch each one to place them here. The gods can taketh what they have giveth thee. Declare yourself respectful and pure hearted and you shall be welcome here._

 

Phillip translated aloud. The wall was warded to an inch of its life. Phillip couldn’t even sense the magic in it when he laid his palm over the cool stone. If you hadn’t known it was here, you would never be able to find it.

 

“I’m surprised you can see this.” Phillip commented. It seemed that it would be prudent to make the script entirely invisible.

 

“I wouldn’t be able to make out the words even if I could read them. Its like, shimmers of light almost, if I look directly at it, they almost disappear.”

 

Phillip thanked Solia for Hawkeye’s impeccable eyesight that even a warded room couldn’t hide itself completely from him. The problem, of course, was that Phillip had no way of knowing if Hydra had already found their way inside—everything on the other side of the stone was blocked from his perceptive abilities. And if they hadn’t, Phillip didn’t want to be the one to do them the favor of opening it. On the other hand, the bidding war in the auction room couldn’t last forever. Whatever Hydra was doing, their timeframe was closing in.

 

Ultimately they got a lucky break. A staff member wheeled past the doorway with another item in cue. Likely the bidding war was taking so long that they were going to try and speed through the following items. As the cart passed, and Phillip cast an invisibility shroud around them, he heard Hawkeye suck in his breath.

 

“What is it?” Phillip questioned.

 

“The script just flashed brightly when that crystal set passed.”

 

The pieces fell together then. With all the ancient stones and runes in the room, the script was likely at its most visible. Once they emptied they gave an infiltrator an opportunity to pass through the stone wall—assuming they knew how. Considering the level of skill required for a control spell on the two dealers, there was nothing opposing the possibility that a similar spell could have been cast on members of the Garììk family.

 

Phillip spoke the inscription over the comm to Romanova. _Declare yourself respectful and pure hearted and you shall be welcome here._

“It sounds like a riddle.” Romanova replied. “What is the ancient word for respect and pure-hearted in dwarfish?”

 

Phillip stepped back from the stone, “القلب النقي الاحترام” he said outloud. The letters glowed from the outside, opening into a hazy passage through the stone, almost like passing through water.

 

Phillip turned back to Barton, who was already behind him, eyes scanning their flank.

 

All too quickly, considering Phillip’s and Barton’s magical strengths, a figure, a _griffin_ shot a lightening burst at them. Phillip felt the white hot sear across his chest and send him flying back into Barton.

 

“You must be SHEILD. A little late, I think.” The griffin snickered.

 

Phillip couldn’t spare a glance to see if Barton was okay. He had taken the brunt of the blast, or so he hoped. He struggled to pull himself off the floor. The magic of his scales protected him from any grave injuries but it still put him on his ass for a few precious minutes. Phillip shuddered to think if Barton had been first through the passage.

 

When Phillip was finally able to sit up, Barton was still going hand to hand with the griffin. The man was powerful, that much was certain, not every griffin knew how to wield energy magic.

 

Phillip heaved himself up, prepared an energy ball but the griffin shot another lightening bolt at the ceiling and unleashed his wings in a swift movement.

 

Phillip watched, horrified as Barton began to shift.

 

“Barton! Stop!” He commanded.

 

Barton startled enough to stop his transformation, “What the hell, Sir! He’s getting away.”

 

Phillip collected himself. “I got him. Get Romanova back to the safehouse.”

 

It would also be a bad idea for Phillip to shift—his colors giving away his status and home region. Instead he had to eyeball the cast, make sure he casted where the griffin would be, given his speed.   He breathed in and out and cast himself at the shrinking figure.

 

 

-O-

 

Clint startled when Nat closed a hand around his shoulder his eyes watching Coulson fight the griffin without his own pair of wings.

 

“What were the orders, Clint?”

 

“Safehouse.” Clint muttered distantly. The griffin was attempting to fling Coulson off of him.

 

Clint was warring with his own thoughts, even as Nat strong-armed him through the mansion halls. _Why the hell had Coulson stopped him from shifting?_ Surely casting toward a moving object was a greater risk than letter Clint give chase.

 

Nat guided him through. His movements jagged. As they walked through the hall, Clint jerked at the stillness of everyone around them. Paused in time, eyes unblinking.

 

“Nat…”

 

“I hypnotized them.” Nat whispered, and continued to usher him out.

 

Clint blinked, eyes taking in every detail. He’d seen Nat do this before on a person. It was an old power of the incubi, to help them lure and trap their food. But it was _one_ person.   There more than 60 people throughout the hall. Unmoving, unwavering, just _still_.

 

Clint shuddered. How much energy had that drained from her? All because Coulson wouldn’t let him shift. Nat sighed beside him as they got into the car. Surely she could tell he was stewing, arms crossed and teeth grinding. Coulson had better explain himself.

 

The manicured lawns of the Garììk estate blurred past them. A small part of Clint was worried about Coulson, hopeful that he was okay. But a larger part knew the griffin was no match for the experienced SHIELD agent, and that part was _pissed_.

 

Later, after the safehouse was properly packed up and Nat had stepped into the other room to phone in their status to headquarters, Coulson trudged through the door. His suit was in perfect condition, not a thread out of place, and he was holding the Stone of Rukh. If he was able to maintain a clothing spell, than he couldn’t have been hurt that badly. Clint decided not to waste time with pleasantries.

 

"Why didn't you let me shift?" Clint growled, eyes surely flashing a threatening green.

 

"It was precautionary." Coulson responded cooly, his tone detached in that robot way he used at SHIELD. If Coulson thought that pretty act was gonna work on Clint, he had another thing coming.

 

"You're not telling me something." Clint accused. From his peripheral he noticed Nat walking in behind him. Nat would back him up. It made no fucking _sense_. In the beginning, he had let it go, thinking it might have been a standard shifter clause in his contract.

 

Coulson opened his mouth, sighed, and then looked beyond Clint to Nat. "I think, maybe, it's time to have this conversation."

 

What. the. fuck. Clint whipped around, glaring at Nat. They were a team, she wasn't aloud to keep secrets about him _with_ SHIELD. "Nat?"

 

Nat's eyes softened. She didn't look guilty or the least bit ashamed, just a touch sad. It hurt though, knowing she had intentionally kept something like this from him. He thought back to her knowing hum when he asked her about the clause in the contract. He felt a pang in the chest that there was something, even then, that she had kept from him. "Little bird, let's save this for dinner."

 

Clint sighed, jaw set. Coulson nodded stiffly in front of him. They silently trudged through their exit--Clint determinedly avoiding the looks from both Coulson and Nat. He'd learned a long time ago to wait and listen. He'd hear them out, of course, his relationship with Nat alone ensured that he owed her the benefit of the doubt. But there was a sense of betrayal about the whole thing. And he couldn't help but feel more alone than he had in a long while.

 

Coulson and Nat silently decided on taking their dinner at Coulson's. Clint didn't look up when Coulson asked if that was alright. They were stepping onto the portal platform and Clint had no desire to be that close to Coulson, let alone to be looking at him. He shrugged in response.

 

Coulson decided on the breakfast nook. It seated them closer and didn't have the resounding quality of the dinning room--Coulson explained. Clint hoped his, _I couldn’t give a flying fuck_ look registered. By the way Coulson pressed his lips together and called for his wait-staff, it seemed it might have.

 

"Little bird." Nat started, voice all motherly and sage. Clint hated it, for one god awful moment he hated all the ways she could control him, all the ways she did control him. "Your wings are different from most shifters."

 

Clint looked up, waiting.

 

She sighed and continued. "When I first met you. I assumed they were black. You used them so infrequently that I hardly had any reason to inspect them. After the Balakai mission, after you had two consecutive feedings from a dragon, I became suspicious. You remember I asked you to shift when we returned from that mission?"

 

Clint had to draw up the memory, filed as it was under details that weren't important at the time. Yes, she had asked, as he was about to shower. But she didn't say anything then either and Clint was too high on Coulson and dragon magic to get suspicious of her.

 

Clint nodded.

 

"You wings were lighter, even then. There was the slightest dusting of deep purple, when the light caught them. Others would have assumed it was a jet black, but I had my doubts."

 

Clint looked over to Coulson. He watched him right back, little micro expression flitting across his face--concern, understanding, honesty.

 

Clint stayed quiet, indicating to Nat that he was listening, that he'd give her space with no interruptions.

 

"After that mission, you started targeting higher level supernaturals. By the time Coulson called in his favor, your wings were a deep purple. You used them on that mission, do you recall?"

 

Clint nodded, waiting for her to fucking get to it. His mind racing to try and fit the pieces together as she fed him the information.

 

"It is very uncommon, little bird, _very_ uncommon for a half-incubus to be able to even ingest the magical energy of a dragon, let alone ingest it repeatedly without consequence." Nat leaned forward, her expression grave. "And, your wings were lightening with each feeding."

 

Coulson cleared his throat and Nat turned to nod at him, giving him permission to begin speaking.

 

"You remember the story of the last Moradei?” Coulson leaned forward on his forearms.

 

Clint stared down at them, images of those forearms pining him against Coulson’s chest flashed bright in his memory. Clint nodded again, not trusting his voice in the slightest.

 

“I can’t say I have an explanation for it, but I think your wings work in much the same way. I think they are storing the magical energy that you collect when you feed.” Coulson’s expression was bright with fascination.

 

All Clint felt was a cold type of anger. _What do you hoard? Things that I find beautiful… and unique_. Coulson had said that to him, hadn’t he? Had he always been collecting him, treating him like an object, like his toy?

 

“So, what? I was your science project or something? Is that why you didn’t tell me this before?” He wasn’t too concerned with the information, honestly. He had been entertaining a few theories himself, trying to figure out the relatively new change in his wings’ color presentation. It made sense. He didn’t actually know who his father was and therefore who his grandparents were… it wouldn’t be outside the realm of possibility that one of them had dragon blood. But that didn’t explain…

 

“No, Barton. No. There are so many factors, risks, and right now…” Coulson stopped and sighed. Collecting himself, he continued on more clinically. “As you know, Hydra is collecting energy-storing items in the hopes of raising an ancient demon. You, Barton, could become a target if it came out in the underworld your potential.”

 

Clint suppressed a shudder. He imagined what they would do, what they would have to do _to_ him, to get him to store the amount of energy they would need to help raise a fucking demon.

 

Nat spoke again, “There are so many ways, little bird, that an enemy can gain information. You saw today how easily the Garììk families’ bodies were controlled. It is why Coulson drafted and processed your contract himself, why I kept silent about it when you asked why I wanted to look at your wings. Why the medical team never once asked to inspect your wings during your physical. They would be collateral if they knew. And, especially working for SHIELD, being captured is well within the realm of possibility. Myself and Coulson can control our minds, compartmentalize and withstand a magical intrusion at least for sometime but you—you would be an open book. We kept it from you so you could better protect yourself. If it came to it.”

 

It stung. Hearing that he was too weak to be trusted with information even about himself. Nat was right, of course, and she didn’t say it meanly. Just as fact. Clint was not a high level supernatural, he didn’t have the magical capabilities that Coulson and Nat had, he was weaker. He understood, distantly, that she said it all out of a desire to protect him but he spent so much of his time with Nat trying to prove that he was good enough. It hurt, even though it was nothing but the truth.

 

Clint ran his hands over the warm, weathered wood of the breakfast table. It was one of the only wood elements in the entire white-marble kitchen.

 

“So what now?” He asked, eyes still trained on the multitude of nicks and scratches in the ancient wood. “What’s the plan?”

 

Clint sighed and raised his eyes. The toxic feelings of betrayal and inadequacy still rolled in his stomach. But, he had to look at the other side of things. He had two people, two high level supernaturals willing to protect him, to keep his secret safe. He owed them more than they owed him, certainly.

 

“We keep this between the three of us. I have to admit, while things are on the table, that Fury has a vague idea about your wings. But no one else that I know of.” Coulson looked relieved, his bright blue eyes searching Clint’s, thankful for the eye contact.

 

Coulson glanced at Nat and back at Clint, “I’ve been working to make the three of us a consistent team, under a new project. It should make things easier.”

 

“S.T.R.I.K.E?” Nat asked.

 

Coulson arched an eyebrow, clearly curious how she had the intel and yet not surprised at all. “Precisely.”

 

Clint wasn’t sure how he felt about seeing Coulson so regularly. They had settled into this distant sort of rhythm where they both pretended that they didn’t know what the other sounded like right before they orgasmed. Close quarters might change that status quo.

 

Both Nat and Coulson were looking at him, waiting for his response.

“S.T.R.I.K.E? Why does SHIELD always do that? That’s clearly a forced acronym.” Clint strained a smile and Nat and Coulson grinned back.

 

“We have teams that just focus on our branding, Barton. It’s rude to insult their work.” Coulson bantered back.

 

Clint realized, unsurprisingly, that he wanted to both punch and fuck the smirk off Coulson’s face. How that was going to bode for the success of this S.T.R.I.K.E team project…Clint wasn’t so sure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lovely, patient, benevolent readers!
> 
> So....I suck at plot. Give me smut any day of the week and I'll write it for you on my lunch break. But this pesky sexual tension, and the drama, and the BUILD---takes me forever. Things should move a tad bit quicker now that the chapter without smut is behind us.
> 
> Again, all grammar mistakes are mine. Still beta-less and still a mongrel. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed!


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